Only Time Will Tell
by I've Got Nerve
Summary: Starting right as Michael is leaving his grandmother's house after being kicked out. By chance he is pulled back before ever being hit by the car Mallory is driving. The girl that saves him has always been friendly towards him and she provides him with the care he's always craved but didn't know he needed. Maybe what he's always needed was a light in the dark.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so disclaiming this right now. I don't own American Horror Story or any of the characters you recognize. I do own Elizabeth and anything else not own the show! I HATED the finale because Michael needed a big showdown to die in, not to get run over by a car. I completely understand WHY it went down the way it did, because they couldn't defeat him at full power, but still . . . I hope I do him justice because he's very hard to write for. Also, I blame Cody Fern for making this Christian girl feel sympathy for the anto-Christ, but there it is.

Chapter One

Michael Langdon didn't know what he was supposed to do. Gramma had thrown him out of the house, and he didn't really understand why. Sure, he understood there was something _different_ about him, something _other_ , but she had never said anything to him about it before. She'd never let him know it bothered her, not even when he'd bled all those animals out just to see what would happen. He was innately curious about those things – he wanted to know what their insides looked like. He couldn't do that if they were _alive_.

And his nannies were all mean, tried to make him do things he didn't want to do, like go to bed before his bed time or eat his vegetables. The last one – the one before he'd woken up bigger – had even dragged him to his room when he hadn't obeyed immediately. He hadn't appreciated it, and she'd been hurting his arm, so he'd killed her.

And the priest his Gramma had called in after his growth spurt had hurt him too. Michael didn't know why, but the words the man had said – chanted almost – had hurt his ears, almost burned them, and he'd lashed out the only way he'd known how. It wasn't like he _wanted_ to hurt anyone . . . he just didn't know any other way.

Until that day, Gramma had helped him by covering up everything he'd done, so what was so different this time? Was it because he'd killed a priest? Why couldn't she just add him to the rose garden she'd been adding to every time his impulses got the better of him? Instead, she had thrown him a jacket and told him to leave the house. She didn't want him anymore. He wasn't her grandson anymore.

Was it because he wasn't in child form anymore? He couldn't help that, he didn't even know how he'd grown overnight. He hadn't meant to. It wasn't his fault.

And he hadn't even had time to grab shoes before running out. In all his confusion and hurt, he had shoved his grandmother into the wall. Rage had taken over and he'd just wanted to hurt her . . . until he hadn't anymore and had realized what he'd been doing. He was aware enough to know that when he was hurt, his mind was overtaken by anger very easily and that was what caused most of the problems, what caused people to be hurt.

Maybe Gramma was hurt too, maybe it had made her angry, and maybe she would want him back later. He could go somewhere else for a few hours and come back after to see if she'd calmed down.

* * *

Elizabeth Garnet was coming back from her daily jog when she heard a door slam, which drew her attention to the Langdon house. She was fairly new to the neighborhood, but she knew Constance Langdon enough to do the grocery shopping for her – she got the woman's groceries the same time she got her own. She also knew Michael Langdon, Constance's grandson. He was the one slamming the door.

Even from the distance at which she was standing she could tell he was upset. His shoulders were tense and he was stomping away, but he also seemed at a loss of where to go. She noticed he was barefoot as well and wondered where he was off to.

She continued jogging and keeping an eye on him at the same time. Even though he was old enough to look out for himself, she'd always sensed a . . . youngness . . . about him. She didn't know how to explain it. She'd talked to him before, but he was almost childlike in the things he did and in the way he carried himself. Even now as he was walking away, he looked back as if hoping for something – what, she didn't know.

She'd caught up to him by that point and she was just going to let him carry on, but she noticed him about to step out onto the street and he hadn't bothered looking either way. Maybe he was too upset, she didn't know, but it had obviously slipped his mind, and there was a car coming – speeding – down the street.

She caught him by the back of the jacket he was wearing and yanked him back just in time to pull him back onto the sidewalk. Whoever had been driving the car kept on going and Elizabeth felt a small amount of rage at the recklessness of whoever it had been. Michael could've have been hit because neither he nor the driver had been paying attention.

"What, are you crazy? You're supposed to look both ways! You could've been killed."

"I – I'm sorry. I'm –" Michael stopped speaking, and a sob bubbled up from his chest.

That's when she noticed the tears and his pale features. The blood seemed to have drained from his face – from shock, maybe? She didn't know, but she was sorry for yelling at him. She hoped she hadn't scared him.

She took in his appearance. He was wearing a yellow shirt – the neck of which was soaked through as if he'd wiped tears away with it – jeans, a jacket, but no shoes. Why was he not wearing shoes?

"Oh, hey, I – I didn't mean to startle you. I just – the car and – you were going out into the street. I just grabbed you – it was a reflex. I didn't mean to yell."

All the while, Michael's blue eyes continued to fill with tears that spilled down and she didn't know what to do. It wasn't like she'd spent much time with him before. She had talked to him in passing when she'd dropped groceries off at his house and that was it. Maybe that was the problem . . . Maybe he didn't realize who she was because of how upset he was.

"Michael, you remember me, right?"

"Miss Elizabeth," he said automatically. "You bring our food."

"Right, good."

She still didn't know what to do. Michael's tears seemed to be coming from fear and sadness, and she didn't know how to help him.

"Michael, what's wrong?" When he didn't respond to her question she said, "I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

He yanked himself away from her and shouted, "I'm what's wrong! I'm not – not her grandson anymore. She doesn't want me."

Elizabeth was sure she'd heard wrong. Constance couldn't have just disowned Michael, it didn't make sense. She was new to town and didn't know anyone very well, but Michael was at least fifteen. Why take care of him all these years just to turn him away now?

"I'm sure that's not true," she said.

"It's what she said!"

This just seemed to make Michael more upset, and the only thing Elizabeth could think to do was go talk to Constance herself. She would, however, wait until Michael was feeling better.

"Michael, would you like to come with me? Just for a little while? You know I live just down the street, we can walk there. We'll come back later to see if she changed her mind, okay?"

"I don't know. She was really mad." He looked down at his bare feet. "I did a not so good thing . . . a lot of not so good things. But I – I promised I wouldn't do it again."

Elizabeth was tempted to ask what he'd done, but it was really none of her business, so she didn't. She just slowly put her hand on his back to make him start moving in the direction of her house. She was relieved when he let her lead him there.

* * *

Michael had never been in Miss Elizabeth's house before, but he did know where she lived. Her house wasn't as big as his. One level with a basement. The house was clean but obviously lived in. There was a warmth there that was always missing from his house.

The first thing Michael noticed was the pictures on the wall. He assumed they were of family members, but he couldn't be sure. It made the most sense, though, because there was a man and a woman, Miss Elizabeth, and a younger girl – a sister maybe.

"You can sit if you want," Elizabeth said and guided him to the brown leather couch set against the wall in the center of the room. There was a small wooden table in front of the couch. It had coasters set on it, and the remotes for the TV and DVD player, which were on the other side of the room on an entertainment center.

There were two armchairs, one of either side of the couch. He sat on one of those instead of the couch.

Michael had stopped crying on their walk there, but his body was tired and shaking now. It had finally sunk in that he had almost been run over by a car and that if Miss Elizabeth hadn't been there, he would probably be dead, or in so much pain he'd wish for death. He was having what he was almost positive was an adrenaline crash. He was exhausted all of a sudden.

"You saved my life," Michael said as Elizabeth sat on the side of the sofa closest to him.

"Well . . ." She seemed a little uncomfortable with that statement, as if she didn't know what to say after that.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." She gave a small smile. "Some people don't know how to drive."

Michael didn't really know what to do or say either. Having never been to her house, he was a little nervous about doing anything to mess something up. All he knew was what little his Gramma had found out from talking to her when she dropped the groceries off, which was that she was new to town. She'd moved there after he'd gotten bigger and didn't know anything about him growing up overnight.

He also knew that she was a nice person. After pulling him back onto the sidewalk she could've just left him there, but she hadn't. She'd brought him with her and was being kind to him. She also seemed to think that his Gramma would take him back. She just needed to calm down a little bit.

He hoped she was right.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I have some leftover pizza from yesterday that I can heat up for us."

"Cold pizza is better," he insisted.

She laughed. "I actually like mine cold too, but I was just trying to be polite."

Michael tried to get up and follow her into the kitchen, but his legs were wobbly and didn't want to work right.

"I've got it," she said and glanced at the remotes. "You can watch TV. Pick a movie and then after that we'll go see about your grandma, okay?"

"I – okay."

While she was in the kitchen Michael began flipping through the channels and settled on _Tom and Jerry_ when he found it. It wasn't a movie, but it was something he liked. He hoped Elizabeth wouldn't mind watching it; she had told him to pick something.

She didn't say anything when she came back in the room. She just handed him a plate with two pieces of pizza on it and placed her own on the table in front of the couch.

"What would you like to drink? There's soda, water, tea . . ."

"Do you have milk?"

"Sure," she said, and smiled sweetly. "Coming right up."

That was how they spent the next hour – eating pizza and watching cartoons. Michael eventually started drifting off and Miss Elizabeth told him to take the couch, so he did. He was out in minutes.

* * *

The first thing Elizabeth did once Michael was asleep was call Constance. There was an answer right away.

"Langdon residence."

"Hi, uh, Ms. Langdon? This is Elizabeth, from down the street."

She hated how uncertain she sounded, but the situation she was in wasn't a normal one. Nothing was certain about it.

"Yes."

"Um, I was out jogging earlier and ran into Michael. He seems to be of the opinion that you've kicked him out of the house."

"That's because I have."

Elizabeth's hand tightened around her phone. So Michael hadn't been overreacting.

"You can't just throw him out. He's a kid, where's he supposed to go?"

Michael appeared to be about four or five years younger than she was, and she was twenty. What was he supposed to do for food? Where was he supposed to spend the night?

"He's not a child, he's not my grandson."

"What do you mean? What did he do that was so bad?"

There was silence for a few seconds on the other side and then Constance asked, "Is he there with you?"

"He's asleep. He was upset, so I brought him home with me. He ate some pizza and pretty much passed out from exhaustion."

"You need to get him out of your house. He's dangerous."

"Michael? He's been as good as can be from the moment we walked in the door."

"You don't know what he's capable of."

The thing was that Constance sounded genuinely concerned for her. So . . . what if Michael had done something that had warranted being thrown out of his house?

"Why don't you tell me, then?"

"You won't believe me, not if I tell you over the phone. If he's asleep, he'll be out for hours. Come over and you'll see."

"I can't just leave him here."

"He's a heavy sleeper, especially after throwing a tantrum."

Throwing a tantrum? He'd been upset, sure, but Elizabeth felt he had a right to have been. Still, she didn't have all the information about what had happened, so she couldn't really judge.

"I'll be there in a few minutes. I can't stay long. I don't want Michael waking up alone."

She hung up without saying goodbye and took another look at Michael before deciding she really needed to talk to his grandmother. It wasn't like she could just keep him there with her – she wasn't family and couldn't legally care for him.

She left the house, locking the door behind her, and was at Constance's house within a few moments. There was an unfamiliar car parked out front and she wondered why Constance would invite her over when she had guests. It wasn't like they could talk freely if someone else was there.

She knocked anyway and was let in by Constance. Elizabeth followed her in and was led to the kitchen, where another girl was seated at the table, a steaming cup of something in front of her. The girl appeared a little older than Elizabeth, but there was a serenity about her that Elizabeth didn't know how to take.

"Elizabeth, this is Mallory. Mallory, this is the girl who . . . foiled your plans."

Elizabeth had no clue what Constance was talking about. She couldn't have foiled this girl's plans. She didn't know her from Eve.

Mallory stood up then, a small, sad smile playing across her lips.

"You pulled him out of the way," the girl said.

"What?"

"You pulled him out of the way. He was supposed to die."

What the actual hell? Was she talking about Michael? He was the only one she could be talking about . . . but . . . had this girl and Constance planned to have Michael run over? And Constance had had the audacity to call Michael dangerous. He was her grandson! She was supposed to love him and take care of him, not plot to have him killed.

"I'm sorry?"

Maybe she was reading everything wrong.

"I know it's hard to understand, but Michael is not who you think he is."

"Oh, yeah? Then who is he?"

Constance and Mallory had pretty much boxed her in, and unless Elizabeth wanted to resort to violence, she wouldn't be able to leave. They obviously wanted her to know something. She would listen . . . for now.

"Come upstairs with me," Constance said. "You have to see something."

So she followed, Constance leading the way, with Mallory behind Elizabeth. They stopped at a closed door. Elizabeth smelled something even through the closed door and she began to feel uneasy. What would she find on the other side of the door?

What she found was the body of a priest. Blood was coming out of his ears and his throat had been slashed straight across – those were the first things she noticed. After that, she realized she must be in Michael's room. Only . . . it wasn't a teenage boy's room. There was a Cat in the Hat book on the bedside table and there were toys spread around the room.

"Michael did this?" she asked. She didn't even know how she'd found the strength to speak when all she really wanted to do was turn and run away.

"Michael did this. He said the priest's words were burning his ears."

"What?"

Mallory, still behind her, touched her arm to get her attention.

"There's a lot you need to know about Michael."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Wait, so you're saying –"

"Yes," Mallory said.

Elizabeth was back in the kitchen with Constance and Mallory and she'd just heard the wildest story of her life. The dead priest upstairs was dead because of Michael – and he wasn't the first person Michael had killed. He'd started out with killing animals, which should have been a clue that something was wrong from the get-go if it was true, and had moved onto people not so long ago. His kill count was at two at the moment, but Elizabeth just couldn't believe it.

The craziest part was that Mallory seemed to believe that Michael was the anti-Christ, as in the spawn of Satan, and Elizabeth was just so done with the nonsense coming out of her mouth.

"Um . . ."

She wanted to high-tail it out of there, but she was trapped at the table.

"I can prove it," Mallory said. "Everything I've said."

"Really?"

"I can show you."

"I think I've seen enough for one night, thanks. I mean, I should be calling the cops, not sitting here listening to this craziness."

"This will take only a minute."

Constance spoke up then, "She had to show me too. It's how I know he's not my grandson."

Elizabeth wished she wasn't so naturally curious – it was going to get her in trouble one day – but if she had one fatal character flaw it was her innate need to know everything. It was a miracle she hadn't just pushed Michael to tell her all this. Had he lived with this his whole life? A grandmother who thought he was the literal embodiment of evil, a grandmother that had just been waiting for someone to come along to help her get rid of him?

If he had . . . and if he was doing the things they were claiming he was doing . . . she wasn't surprised. And for her to have actually called a priest in to do an exorcism . . . it had probably scared the daylights out of him. No, Michael shouldn't have killed him, but she'd heard of stories like that one before. Someone would have some kind of mental illness – being bipolar or schizophrenic or maybe even a borderline personality disorder – and instead of giving him of her the help they needed a priest would be called in, which would cause further problems because of trauma from the so-called exorcism.

"Show me then," Elizabeth said. She was caught in this now, she might as well go all in.

Mallory stood up and Elizabeth tracked her movements, stiffened when the girl settled behind her. She jerked away when she felt Mallory's hands touch the top of her head.

"Hey!"

"Relax," she said, her voice oddly soothing, and Elizabeth was able to become slightly less tense.

What happened next was a shock to her system. Images flashed through her mind, images of a slightly older Michael doing . . . something. He was standing in front of a fireplace, a dead mouse in his hands. He covered the mouse with one hand while still holding it in the other. A few seconds later, the rodent was alive again and moving. Michael had brought it back to life somehow.

Another flash and Michael was even older know, with long blonde hair. He was in all black aside from a red velvet-looking suit jacket. He was kneeling down in front of a sitting Mallory – only Elizabeth could sense that this Mallory wasn't exactly the same as the one in the kitchen with her. Michael was talking about hypocrisy and how he wanted a world without it, one where people could basically do whatever they wanted and chaos would reign. Mallory tried to get away from him, but he grabbed her by the elbow. He was thrown backward and then – that's when it happened – Michael's face changed. Sure, there was an actual physical difference – his face had turned crusty, almost, and his teeth had yellowed; his eyes were pitch black – but there was an altogether other difference too. It was the face of evil.

Elizabeth pulled away from Mallory and stood up herself.

"There's more," Mallory said.

"I don't want to see it. What . . . was that?"

"You already know."

She shook her head and hid her face behind her hands. "No. That . . . that wasn't Michael. He's – he's asleep on my couch right now."

"I told you he was dangerous."

Okay, she could concede that point, but he wasn't that type of dangerous. She would have felt it, right? And then she realized . . .

"How did you do that? You put that in my head. How do I know it's even true?"

"Do you know how old Michael is?" Constance asked.

"Sixteen?"

"He is four. He grew up overnight, quite literally."

This was another thing Elizabeth couldn't wrap her head around, but she did remember the things in Michael's room and that they'd appeared to belong to a much younger boy. There was even a toy chest that definitely wouldn't have been something a teenage boy would keep in his room. Ironically enough, the thought of Michael having grown up overnight wasn't the weirdest thing she'd heard that night. She would get back to that later.

"Mallory?"

"I'm a witch."

That wasn't the weirdest thing either, and after what the girl had just done it wasn't hard to believe.

Elizabeth had always believed in the supernatural, but to be confronted with it so directly was a lot to take in. And to have someone say that someone was an actual anti-Christ . . . it still seemed crazy.

"What did you show me, though? He was older and . . . can you see the future?"

"I have, in a way. He destroys the world, and he's too powerful to stop then. I had to find a point in time when he was the most vulnerable –"

"A point in time? As in . . . you're from the future?" Going along with it, though still in disbelief, Elizabeth said, "Why didn't you just go back to a time before he was born? And if you're powerful enough to send yourself through time, why did you have to try to run him over with a car? And why couldn't he protect himself? Why did I have to pull him back?"

"Michael is not at full power now. I don't even know if he knows what he is at this point in time."

"He's still not an innocent," Constance said. "Look at what he's done."

Constance gestured to the ceiling and Elizabeth knew she was talking about the dead priest.

"Okay . . . even if what you say is true . . . from what you've said, it's not like you ever tried to stop him. You hid it and you didn't let him know it was wrong, and if he's actually four in his mindset then you've let him continue that behavior thinking its okay. Of course it escalated."

"Are you saying this is my fault?"

"Part of it is! As his guardian, it was your place to lead him, not just let him do whatever he wanted."

Mallory stared at Elizabeth for a few seconds until Elizabeth turned her ire on her.

"And you, coming back to kill a kid! How is that a good thing? You couldn't have tried to help him instead?"

"We offered to help him embrace his humanity once before. He refused."

"That Michael refused! This one is obviously crying out for attention and help, and you know what happened? He got kicked out of his house by the only family member he appears to have!"

"Are you volunteering to help him then?"

That stopped her short. She wasn't doing any such thing. He couldn't just move in with her. He would need so much more help than she could provide.

"You weren't in his life before," Mallory said. Elizabeth could basically see her mind working. "In the original timeline you didn't have to save him because I wasn't here to –"

"Run him over?"

Mallory shrugged. "I'm not apologizing. He killed my coven and destroyed the world. I had to stop him somehow. If you think you can help him . . . he'll come into his powers at some point, if he hasn't already, and he's not going to be able to control them at first. And he already has urges to hurt when he's hurt, and we already know he doesn't control those."

Elizabeth was torn. If everything Mallory was saying was true then she would be in so over her head if she tried to help Michael. However, she felt she needed to, even if she did think what he needed was a psychiatrist and not her.

"I can't do it on my own," she said.

Seriously, something was wrong with her. She should definitely run the other way, but it wasn't like she could go anywhere. Besides, they couldn't call the cops, not if Michael was the actual anti-Christ. It wouldn't do any good to lock him up. He would just get out and probably be even worse than before.

"I would stay, obviously," Mallory said. "To make sure it was working."

"To make sure what is working? It's not like I can do anything."

"You just said he needs guidance."

"Not from me." She looked at Constance. "From her!"

"I made him leave. He's not coming back."

To be honest, Elizabeth didn't trust either of them around Michael. They had plotted against him and if he really did have a four-year-old mindset . . . that was messed up. It made so much more sense now why he hadn't looked both ways before trying to cross the street – he didn't know any better!

She cursed out loud and the said, "Fine, whatever. I'll do it. I need some of his stuff, and we're going to have to explain why he's suddenly having to move in with me. I'll bring him over tomorrow and you're going to do it. So your better get your story straight."

* * *

When Michael woke up it was completely dark outside, and the only light in the living room came from the TV, which was still on and showing cartoons. He stretched and then sat up, groaning on the way. His head hurt and his eyes were dry and scratchy.

He stood up and passed by the kitchen. He had to use the bathroom, he just didn't know where it was. The house wasn't that big, he could find it on his own. Miss Elizabeth was probably already in bed. He didn't know what time it was, but it seemed late because everything was quiet aside from the TV.

He finally found the bathroom and he did his business before going in search of Miss Elizabeth. She'd promised to take him back home to talk to Gramma. He just wanted to go back home.

But he couldn't find Miss Elizabeth. He searched every room in the house and couldn't find her. He even called her name from the top of the basement stairs. He didn't start panicking until he didn't get a response.

"Miss Elizabeth?" he yelled, beginning to make his way down the stairs.

She just wasn't there. She'd left him too. He'd obviously done something to make her leave. She'd run from her own house to get away from him. Maybe he was bad like his Gramma had told him. Why couldn't he just be good? Why was it so hard for him to do the right thing? He didn't even know what he'd done, but there he was, alone again.

He plopped down on the bottom step and began crying as reality set in. He was in the house alone. It was dark in the basement and he didn't know where the light switch was, but the darkness had never really bothered him. He just didn't know what to do! He couldn't go home because his Gramma didn't want him there, and he couldn't stay there because it wasn't his house.

Where was Miss Elizabeth? He'd thought she was kind – she had saved his life and had brought him home with her just because he had been upset. She'd fed him and let him watch cartoons. She shouldn't have left him alone. It wasn't nice, and now he was scared and didn't know what to do!

Michael didn't know how long he stayed at the bottom of the steps in the dark basement, but he tired himself out again. His head hurt worse than before and his body just wanted to curl in on itself and sleep again.

"Michael?" Her voice came from the top of the stairs. "What're you doing down here?"

It was Miss Elizabeth. She hadn't left him after all!

Ignoring the tiredness in his body and the ache in his head, he scrambled up the stairs.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't find you and –"

He almost ran into her and would have had she not brought her arms up. She was holding a plastic bag full of whatever was in it; he stopped before completely plowing into her.

"I shouldn't have left you alone so long," she said. "I went to talk to your grandmother – you were asleep."

"Oh."

She gestured for him to take the bag, so he did. The bag contained a change of clothes, shoes, and a few toys – cars and action figures mostly.

"You're going to stay here tonight. We'll talk to her together tomorrow. Okay?"

He nodded enthusiastically. He would do whatever she wanted as long as it meant not getting kicked out of her house.

"You and I need to talk, Michael, but that can wait until tomorrow as well."

There was something different about her now. Her voice was off – still kind, but not as open now, almost stilted. He wondered what was wrong.

"Am I in trouble? Did I do something to make you mad?"

She shook her head and he watched as some of the tension left her shoulders.

"You haven't made me mad, Michael, and I don't think you're in trouble. We'll talk about it tomorrow with your grandma."

"Okay." Then, "Can we play a game?"

"Sure. We should clean up first. I need to change, and you have sleep clothes in the bag."

* * *

It wasn't until she'd gone into the bathroom that she realized she was still wearing her jogging clothes from earlier. After jogging she would usually shower and change into comfortable clothes if she didn't have anywhere else to go that day, or change into whatever clothes would fit wherever she was going. This time she hadn't done that because she'd been busy taking care of Michael and then having the weirdest conversation she'd ever had.

She still wasn't sure she believed what she'd heard or even what she'd seen. She was still caught between thinking she should call the cops and thinking she should just leave it alone because it wasn't her business.

Michael seemed so innocent. She didn't want to believe what she'd been told. He definitely didn't seem . . . evil. She really could believe that he had the mind of a four-year old, though. And if that was true, then everything else had to be true too, right?

So far Michael hadn't directly shown her anything that would make her think he was evil or capable of what his grandmother had said he was. Constance could've killed the priest herself, and Mallory . . . Well, if she could plant visions in people's heads then she could manipulate what that person saw, what she wanted that person to see.

That there – that little sliver of doubt - was mainly why she was giving Michael a chance. That and the fact that she felt sorry for him. If he really had had no guidance in his life, then he'd really never had a chance at all, and she wanted to change that.

A knock came from the other side of her bedroom door and Michael spoke, his voice timid, calling her name. The anti-Christ couldn't be timid! Mallory and Constance must have had it wrong. Then again, the Michael Mallory had shown her was a completely different person – he'd been from the future.

She opened the door for him, choosing to ignore whatever was going on for that night. They could all face it when they talked to Constance the next day. The Michael she saw on the other side of the door was almost pitiful looking. He was still a little pale, though a little bit of color had returned to his cheeks. His eyes were puffy and red, probably sore too, from crying. She could even see the tracks his tears had left behind.

"Hey, let's – let's get you cleaned up."

"I changed already, like you said."

He was telling the truth. He was already in a long T-shirt and boxer shorts, his sleep clothes.

"Thank you for listening so well, Michael," she said, and something loosened in her chest as he allowed himself a small smile. "I meant something a little different, though."

He gave her the universal head-tilt-of-confusion but followed her anyway when she began leading him to the bathroom. He did, however, hesitate at the doorway.

"It's okay," she said. "I just want to wash your face. It'll make you feel better."

She gestured to the toilet and he brought down the lid so he could sit. Her bathroom had a cabinet under the sink meant for towels and washcloths, and that was where she kept them. She grabbed a washcloth and ran cool water over it. He moved his head away when she brought the cloth to his cheek to wipe away the streaks.

"It's cold," he said.

"It's not even – okay, it's a little cold, but it'll help."

"Hm."

He crossed his arms over his chest but allowed her to continue what she'd been about to do, which was wash his face. She was careful around his eyes and he eventually uncrossed his arms and relaxed into her touch.

"Your head hurt?"

"Mm-hm."

"You need to drink some water. You're dehydrated. You've had quite the day."

Once she was done, she tossed the washcloth into the sink. Michael continued sitting there.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

She shrugged, not really knowing the reason herself. She went with the first thing that popped into her mind. "Maybe I just feel you need somebody to be nice to you."

"Even after talking to Gramma?"

Her spine stiffened and her body became ramrod straight.

"What do you think she said, Michael?"

She watched as he pressed his lips together and as the bottom one began to tremble. He was so emotional, but not a steady type of emotional. It was more like when something did hit him, he couldn't just feel it and move on. Every emotion was like the extreme of what something could be. He didn't feel pain like other people did. No, hurt to him was anguish and despair; fear was absolute terror. She wondered if he felt positive things the same way. If love and joy would fill his whole heart if he felt them.

"You don't have to cry," she said. "She did tell me some things, but you're still here. I didn't make you leave and I'm not running away in fear."

"But I hurt . . . people."

"From what she said, you killed people." She wasn't going to sugarcoat it for him. That wouldn't be the way to go about anything. "Also from what she said, at least one of those times you were defending yourself. I'm not saying that what you did was okay, because killing someone isn't, and you could have done it another way, but . . . I can't fault you for defending yourself. Everyone has the right to do that."

"You're not scared that I might hurt you?"

"I mean . . ." Elizabeth didn't really know how to answer. "I think I'm taking a risk letting you stay here, but – and there is a but – I'm not planning on hurting you. I saved you today and I'm literally not a threat to you, so . . . I'm trusting you not to hurt me."

She just hoped she was doing the right thing even if she wasn't doing the smart thing.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The night Michael spent at Elizabeth's was uneventful. They played a card game and then they both went to bed. She had a guest room and that was where she put him. She waited until he was good and asleep before going to sleep herself. She'd locked her door, just in case, but nothing happened. Michael was still in bed when she woke up the next morning.

It gave her plenty of time to get breakfast started. Since she had a guest, she made bacon, eggs, and biscuits instead of just enjoying a bowl of cereal. A sleepy-eyed Michael with bedhead came into the kitchen as the smell of frying bacon filled the house. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds before deciding he was too tired to stand and ended up plopping down on one of the chairs at the table.

She held back a grin. The only thing he was missing was a blanket trailing behind him to complete the picture of a rumpled kid rejecting the idea of being awake and out of bed. Some anti-Christ, she thought as she rolled her eyes. Mallory and Constance really had it wrong.

"Good morning."

"Mm," he harrumphed.

"I feel ya. I hate mornings too."

That got a smile from him at least.

"I actually usually like mornings," he admitted. "I still don't feel great."

He was probably still drained. She'd never met anyone as highly sensitive as he was – then again . . . four-year olds did get their feelings hurt very easily. She still couldn't believe she was even considering the idea that he'd grown up overnight, but she could see it, she really could. It was impossible, but . . . Michael did have childlike ways about him.

She guessed she would learn more later when they had their meeting with Constance.

* * *

Once Elizabeth was done cooking, she piled everything into containers and set it on the table. She got out two plates and all the silverware needed and then sat down across from Michael. She gave one plate to Michael before putting the utensils where they needed to be.

"Help yourself," she said.

She learned that Michael loved food and loved eating, but she didn't know if it was because he actually liked it or if his body was trying to keep up with itself. Even if he was stuck with four-year old traits, his body very much was not. He would need as much nutrition as an actual teenage boy did. He seemed to really like the biscuits, which were just the ones that came in a can that you popped in the oven for about twenty minutes.

"So . . . when do you want to go see your grandma?"

Michael paused as he was beginning to scoop up some egg and then put his fork on his plate. He shrugged. He shut himself off almost immediately and Elizabeth realized again how much it had hurt him to be kicked out of his house. The woman he'd spent his life with had abandoned him.

"I'll be there with you, Michael. Maybe we can figure something out. Okay?"

He nodded, but she could tell he wasn't certain there was anything to figure out.

"Anyway, eat your food. We don't have to worry about your grandma until we go see her."

* * *

Elizabeth and Michael went to see Constance right after breakfast. Mallory was there also and Elizabeth had a few things she wanted to say to both of the women before allowing Michael into the conversation. They left Michael in the living room while they went into the kitchen to talk, much like they had the day before.

"Is the . . . body gone?"

"Yes," Constance said.

"Okay, good. I have two requests for our conversation today."

Both women seemed a little suspicious of what Elizabeth would say. She didn't know why. If anything, she should be suspicious of them.

"I didn't tell Michael about what you guys planned to do to him, so don't mention it. Right now, he only thinks I saved him from getting run over and nothing else. Not who did it and not that you meant to."

Mallory didn't seem to even have to think before agreeing to that. Elizabeth was just happy she wouldn't have to argue her point.

"Second thing is . . . don't mention the anti-Christ thing. Okay? You tell him that and he might not let us help him. He might not even care if he does bad things anymore because . . . well . . . anti-Christ. In fact, I don't want to hear anything negative about him because there are only so many times you can hear how much of a monster you are before you just become one. From all I know of what you told me . . . he needs positive reinforcement in his life."

Constance and Mallory both seemed to be thinking it over and then Constance asked, "Miss Garnet, how old are you?"

"Twenty."

"How is it you can afford to live on your own here? It's not cheap. Where is your money coming from?"

She shrugged. Her home life was nothing to brag about but she wasn't against talking about it either.

"My father is a lawyer and my mother is a doctor. I found the house and they helped me with a down payment; I've had a job since I was seventeen, which helped. I'm just getting settled now. I make money delivering groceries. I plan on finding something else in the near future and then starting school next year. Psychology will be my major."

"Is that why you think you can help him?" Mallory asked, skepticism very apparent in her voice.

"I don't know if I can help him at all," Elizabeth said, "But I will at least try to lead him the right way."

* * *

Michael stayed in the living room for what had to be a good fifteen minutes until he was invited into the kitchen. He stood in the doorway until Gramma gestured to a chair at the table. Elizabeth and his Gramma sat down, but the other girl, Mallory, remained standing. He noticed she kept her eyes on him and he didn't like it, really. It was like she expected him to snap and do something horrible.

"Michael, it's okay," Elizabeth said.

The way she spoke made him think that it really was, that she wouldn't let anything hurt him, especially not the other girl in the room. He chose to sit beside her. Gramma might not want him to sit by her, and he didn't really know Mallory. He'd only met her that day when they'd arrived; he didn't even know why she was there.

"Michael," his gramma said, gaining his attention. She wasn't as upset as she had been yesterday, which had to be a good sign. "You know why I made you leave yesterday."

He did and he didn't, but he wasn't going to argue.

"You said you knew you were doing bad things and that you didn't know why you kept doing them."

"I don't know why."

"I think I do," Elizabeth said. "Your grandma told me about how you grew up overnight. That you are basically a four-year old in a sixteen-year old body."

Michael was hesitant to let her know that was true. How much weirdness could she take before she would want him gone like Gramma?

"As a four-year old, you will lash out when you're angry or scared. Like I said last night . . . you were defending yourself against that priest. You could have done it a different way, but . . . you _were_ defending yourself."

"Yes!" Michael agreed. "That's what I said yesterday before –"

"She shouldn't have kicked you out," Elizabeth said, looking at Gramma. "I told you yesterday that Michael needs guidance. At that level of development – I'm speaking mentally, here – he has to have an adult lead him when he gets out of control. From what you said, you never did. Children need rules and boundaries. Some doctors even think they like them; it can make them feel safe because they know their parents, or whoever, care enough to set them."

Had Gramma ever given him rules or boundaries? He couldn't think of a time when she had. He didn't know if he wanted them.

"Mallory and your grandmother came up with a plan to help you, Michael."

Elizabeth gave him an encouraging smile and then gestured for Gramma to speak.

"It was Elizabeth who suggested it, actually," Gramma said. "She thinks she can help you if you stay with her for a while."

"Because you don't want me anymore."

"You'll still be able to see Constance," Elizabeth assured him. "Remember I live right down the street. You'll be able to come and go as you please."

"But your home will be my home?"

"Well, yes. That's why we're here, really. So you can bring some of your stuff with you."

"I – okay."

He really didn't mind. He couldn't. Elizabeth's house was the only one available to him at the moment, since Gramma didn't seem willing to let him come back permanently.

"Okay, so here are the rules."

Michael's shoulders tensed. He didn't like rules, not so much because they were rules but because he was sure he would end up breaking them. He always messed up, so it was sort of inevitable really.

"Relax, I only have two right now. That may change later, but right now I just want you to focus on not hurting or killing anyone or anything. Those are the most important things for me right now."

Oh. Michael was able to relax as Elizabeth had asked him to. Those weren't horrible rules at all and they were things he could remember because he never wanted to hurt anyone, it just sort of happened that way.

"I don't mean to."

"I think I believe you," Elizabeth said. "Still, it's something we're going to figure out, okay?"

"Okay. And . . . that's it?"

"For now."

"That doesn't seem too hard," Michael said and couldn't help but feel the warmth when Elizabeth smiled at him.

"I don't have anything a young boy would like at my house aside from a TV, so you need to pack up some of your stuff to take with us. Clothes, toys, games, whatever you might want."

He nodded but sat there until Elizabeth gave him leave to go. She wanted to talk to Gramma and Mallory again.

* * *

Elizabeth watched Michael go up the stairs toward his room before turning to the other two women.

"How is he the anti-Christ? He's been nothing but nice and polite to me."

"You have yet to make him angry," Constance said.

"No. Mostly he's just been scared of being abandoned by me, which is understandable considering what happened yesterday."

"What happened once you took him home with you?" Mallory asked.

"There was a lot of crying. We ate pizza and watched TV. He fell asleep on the couch, and then I came over here. He was very upset when I got back because he woke up alone. He'd looked all over the house for me and when he couldn't find me, he went down into the basement and just . . . cried. That's where I found him."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I don't know who that man was in that thing you showed me, but it's not him. Or at least not yet. He hopefully won't ever be if I have anything to do with it. Psychologically, I think we can help him in as much as he'll allow us to."

"And if he doesn't allow us to?" Mallory asked.

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean, what if he gets to a point where he no longer wants to be good? Or no longer questions why he isn't?"

She didn't know what to say. She couldn't imagine Michael any other way than he was right then.

"You've already grown attached, haven't you? It's not just because he's a boy; it's because he's Michael."

"Who is a child," Elizabeth claimed. "He's . . . there's something about him. I've always sensed it, the youngness of him, even before finding out his true age. And I feel he deserves a chance. He knows my rules. If he breaks them, then it will have been his choice and . . . I will let him go."

* * *

It didn't take long for Michael to pack the things he wanted – mostly his video games and everything that went with it, and clothes because Miss Elizabeth had mentioned them – and he went back downstairs to find the three women in the living room instead of the kitchen.

Was Miss Elizabeth ready to go? He stood there, taking his cues from her. She didn't sit down, so he didn't either.

"We can leave whenever you're ready, Michael."

"Well, I'm – I was just waiting for you."

She gestured to the front door then and he went ahead of her. He stopped at the door and turned back to face his gramma.

"Goodbye, Gramma," he said. "I hope I can become what you want, so I can come back one day."

She didn't say anything, but Michael noticed that her eyes filled with water. That had to be a good sign.

He didn't know Mallory so he didn't speak to her, and he began to move again once Miss Elizabeth put a hand on his jacket-covered arm. It was her cue to let him know she was ready to go.

Once outside Michael didn't look back, not as he had the day before. He had somewhere to go now and he could visit with Gramma when he wanted. This wasn't a permanent thing; he would get control of himself. Gramma would let him back in.

"We're going to drop your stuff off at the house and then I have to go to the store. I wasn't expecting a house guest," Miss Elizabeth said. Her tone didn't lead him to believe that he was a burden in anyway. In fact, she sounded almost playful.

"Can I go with you? I've never really been to a store before."

He still wasn't too keen on being alone, being without an adult. And he really hadn't been a lot of places most people had. He'd been a baby when Gramma had first taken him from his parents – his mother had died and his father had never claimed him, so it wasn't like she'd kidnapped him or anything, really – and she'd kept him for the years it had taken him to get to the point he was now. He'd been kept in the house mostly, and he hadn't been able to go out much at all since he'd gotten bigger. How would he or Gramma explain who he was and how fast he'd grown?

"All the time you were with Constance, she never let you go to the store with her?"

Michael shrugged before swinging the bag he was holding up over his shoulder.

"Gramma never really went to the store either. There were others before you. Men mostly."

"Hm. Okay, then. And . . . how do you feel about going with me? Around people you don't know."

Michael stopped walking as he thought about it. He wasn't feeling great about it, really, but he wasn't staying by himself in that house that wasn't really his.

"I'll be with you, right?"

"Yes."

"Then I should be fine. Just don't leave me."

* * *

Elizabeth owned a small Ford Focus that Michael's head almost reached the ceiling of when he was seated in it. She laughed when she realized. She should have known; he was almost a whole head taller than she was.

"Think about some stuff you like to eat on the way."

She assumed he did because he wasn't talkative at all on the way to the store. She had the music on low but she didn't think either one of them was actually listening. It was mostly just background noise for her, anyway.

She couldn't believe what she'd agreed to do. The whole anti-Christ thing aside – if that was even true; she still wasn't sure about it – she was taking in someone who was basically a child. She was agreeing to help teach him wrong from right. She had impulsively made that decision because she felt sorry for the boy sitting across from her in the passenger seat. She still kind of felt sorry for him – his grandmother had given him up easily and willingly, so of course she felt sorry for him. Everyone deserved someone that would stand by their side and fight for them. So that was what she would strive to be as long as he didn't resort to murder again.

Once at the store Elizabeth noticed just how anxious it made Michael feel to be in place where he didn't know everyone. He stuck to her side much like an actual child would its mother when around strangers. She was surprised he didn't just grab onto her arm and hide behind her. She didn't know if it was from being shy or afraid, but it was one of the two. He had social anxiety, though, that was for sure.

"Are you sure you're okay to be here?"

"I'm fine," he answered quickly.

"Mm-hm."

She grabbed a cart then began making her way further into the store. She was planning on getting only a few things, things that Michael wanted, because she had enough stuff for her already at her house.

"Do you like cereal?"

"The sweet kind," Michael answered.

"So the unhealthy kind then," she teased.

He looked down as if she had berated him and she realized just how unused to casual affection and positive reinforcement he must be if he didn't understand that she was just messing with him.

"Hey, it's okay. I don't really like cereal that isn't sweet either." She touched his arm briefly. "I'm even letting you pick it out."

He basically beamed a smile at her and she could practically feel the enthusiasm bouncing off of him at the prospect of him getting to pick out the cereal. If that was indicative to how easily it would be to make him happy and keep him that way, then she figured having him as a housemate wouldn't be hard at all.

As they walked up and down the aisles, she had Michael point out things that he liked. They couldn't get everything that day, but at least she would know in the future. She noticed that he was really into things that had a lot of sugar in it. She didn't know if that was because he was four years old or if that was just him, but she got a few things to snack on – Oreos, chocolate chip cookies, and ice cream – that was specifically for him.

She went through the check out line with more things than she had originally planned, and she was surprised when Michael helped take the bags to the car. He was actually pretty strong, which shouldn't have surprised her. He was about fifteen or sixteen physically, so the bags weren't a problem.

Once at home Elizabeth went about showing Michael where everything went in the kitchen. If he was going to be staying there, he would at least need to know where the dishes and silverware were. She would not be waiting on him hand and foot.

"Earlier you said that you didn't mean to hurt people," Elizabeth said. "What did you mean by that?"

Michael stopped what he was doing – putting the cookies on top of the fridge – and turned to her. He looked at the floor and shrugged as if he didn't know what to say.

"Is it maybe that you lash out? You get angry . . . or scared?"

Again, he shrugged, and after a few seconds he shook his head.

"It's like I go away and when I come back . . . people are dead."

"Like something else takes over?"

"Yeah."

That would explain the priest in his room, and it confirmed her exorcism theory.

"And when you come back . . . do you ever remember how you got there?"

"I don't know. I mean . . . a few nights ago I remember going to Gramma's room. I wanted to know if I could have a glass of water. I remember that, and then I went away and when I came back, I was on top of her with my hands around her neck. She was scared and I got scared and I didn't know anything else. I don't remember getting on the bed and I definitely don't remember putting my hands around her neck, but . . . that's what happened."

Constance had failed to mention that particular incident.

"Were you angry at her at all before that?"

"I mean, I was a little upset because she kept telling me what to do, but she always told me what to do."

"Like what did she tell you to do?"

"The way I speak. She doesn't like it sometimes. I sometimes say 'Can I have a glass of water?' instead of "May I?" and she corrects me every time."

Elizabeth couldn't help herself; she laughed. Constance had a kid who would kill animals and had worked his way up to people, and she was correcting his grammar? Maybe the whole family was nuts.

"That would get annoying. Not enough to choke somebody," she clarified, "but it would get annoying. And you speak very well, so . . ."

"Thank you."

"Mm-hm. Go ahead and put the cookies up. And just so you know . . . you never have to _ask_ for a glass of water here. Or food. If you're thirsty, get something to drink. If you're hungry, get something to eat."

"Okay."

From what Elizabeth had found out that day, Constance seemed to have kept Michael very sheltered and had been very strict in some ways, but not in the ways that mattered. Michael was very polite and almost sweet, in a way, and even though she now believed he had killed at least one person, she found him at least a little innocent because of the reason he'd killed them.

Add in the fact that he didn't seem to know he was doing it when he was, in fact, doing it, she wanted to help him more than ever.

She just hoped she could.

* * *

Okay, so I actually looked up stages of development for children to help me along with what is acceptable behavior for a four-year old, so hopefully this is okay. I'm going on the theory that Michael wasn't really on the actual anti-Christ path (for real) until he did that heart-eating ritual, so there's probably going to be a lot of struggle with good and evil in this story. He will be maturing mentally also in this story over the course of a few months, and I'm not sure really if I want to turn this into a romance because Elizabeth is going to be his mother figure for a while, but we will see.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The first week Michael stayed with Elizabeth was pretty uneventful considering she'd been told he was a murderer and the actual anti-Christ. She thought that was hilarious. The anti-Christ usually wanted a bedtime story. He sometimes had trouble getting to sleep without one.

He hadn't brought any books from his grandmother's house, so Elizabeth made do with what she had. They weren't really for a four-year old, but they could be considered children's books. She had the Harry Potter series and The Hobbit, things like that. He'd seemed okay with them after she explained what they were about, and she started with Harry Potter because that was her favorite out of all her books.

She read about one chapter per night. Michael seemed to relate a lot with Harry having to stay with a family that was so different from himself and being judged because of it.

The first night she realized he had trouble sleeping was the same night they'd come back from his house to get some of his stuff to keep there. They'd gone to bed at a decent hour, between ten and eleven, and he hadn't had a problem with that. It wasn't like he had an actual bedtime – she wasn't his mother, so she didn't feel as if she had a right to tell him what to do, not really – but he'd gone to bed when she had.

About an hour later she'd heard him walking the halls. It didn't bother her at first. Maybe he'd had to go to the bathroom or had wanted something to drink, something like that. After about ten minutes, though, she got up and met him out in the hallway, wanting to see what was wrong.

"I can't sleep," he'd admitted. "I have trouble sometimes."

He hadn't had trouble the night before, but he'd worn himself out from crying too, so that had probably had something to do with it.

"Gramma usually reads to me," he said, head down, probably expecting her to just brush him off.

"Oh." She took a careful step closer to him. "Michael, do you want _me_ to read to you? I don't have any of your books, but I have some of my favorite ones. You might like them."

When he looked at her then, she noticed his eyes were bright with excitement and relief.

"Would you?"

It wasn't hard to believe he was actually four-years old so she didn't feel silly at all when she said yes, that she didn't mind. It was probably nerve-wracking having to make himself at home there. If reading him to sleep would help ease his mind, then she would do it.

* * *

"I don't like the Dursley's," Michael said, his voice soft, and his eyes tired.

Miss Elizabeth had read the first chapter of the book she was reading and he'd stayed awake even though her voice was soothing enough to help him sleep. The story was interesting even if he didn't like the people in it.

"I don't think you're supposed to."

"I'm glad you're not like them."

"I am too."

"No, I mean, I'm glad you're not like them because I wouldn't be here if you were. You would've kept running yesterday after saving me, and I wouldn't . . . I don't know where I'd be. And I really wouldn't be here after you finding out what I've done. You wouldn't be giving me a chance."

"Hm. Such deep thoughts for such a late hour." She touched his arm and stroked up and down a few times in a comforting manner. "Try to sleep. We'll set up your room tomorrow and I'll try to hook your game up to the TV. No promises, because I suck at that kind of stuff, but –"

"I know how to do it."

She smiled. "Then you can hook it up. Maybe you can teach me."

"All you do is match the colors, Miss Elizabeth. Simple."

"If you say so. I'll still leave it to you."

"Okay." He pulled the sheet up to his chin even though he was already a little warm. "I think I can sleep now."

"Good. Good night, Michael."

* * *

The next morning Michael and Elizabeth ate breakfast together before she took her jog. She'd skipped the day before for obvious reasons, but that day she wanted to get back into it. It took her almost ten minutes to convince Michael that she was just going for a jog and that she would be back in no time – meaning about thirty minutes. She hated the fact that he didn't seem to trust that she would indeed be back, that she wasn't leaving him behind, but that was all the more reason for her to go out. It would prove that she wasn't just going to up and leave. It would help him trust her if she went and came back when she said she would be – it would help him a lot.

She even gave him a task to complete while she was gone – hook up his game system and set up his room the way he wanted it. She was fairly certain she would be back before he even got done.

She was right. He was still working on his room when she got back. She still had enough time to take a shower and change. They would have a simple lunch of sandwiches and chips when she was through. Maybe they could play a game after that. She'd brought a few of her favorite ones with her when she'd moved there.

She stopped at the entrance to his room to announce her presence. He looked her way even before she'd said anything.

"I'm back," she said gently. "I'm going to shower and change. We can make lunch and play a game after if you want."

"You mean together?"

"Well, yes. Did Constance not play games with you?"

Michael shook his head. "I mostly played video games and she wouldn't play those."

"Hm. I'm not great at those either. But I have other games that I think you'll like. You play mine, I'll play yours . . . or try at least."

"Okay."

She smiled. "Okay. I'll come get you when I'm done."

She left Michael there so he could continue to put his room together. She made a note that she may need to get him a small shelf to put some of his stuff on. There was a dresser and a bedside table already, but the room hadn't been set up for a boy. It hadn't been set up for a young person at all.

The youngest person she knew was her sister Tara, who was around Michael's physical age. She'd never thought she would have someone in her house that would need a place to put his toys.

* * *

Miss Elizabeth was still in the shower when Michael got done with his room, so he went into the living room to wait for her. He heard when the water cut off and when the bathroom door opened. He also heard when she went into her room and closed the door. She was probably getting dressed. He didn't know why she didn't just take the clothes in the bathroom with her when she showered, but there it was.

A few minutes later, Miss Elizabeth came into the living room in a white blouse and blue jeans, bare feet. Her long brown hair was flowing past her shoulders and midway down her back. She had a smile on her face and a clean glow from the shower she'd taken.

"So . . . you wanna play a game first or eat lunch."

"Play a game," he said, curious as to what type of game she had in mind.

She went back the way she came, only this time Michael followed her. She went to her room, opened her closet door, and reached up to the shelf above the rack of clothes. She pulled down a shoebox, which made Michael even more confused.

"This game involves shoes?"

"No, Michael. I just lost the original box the game came in, so I keep the pieces in here."

He followed her again, and this time she led him to the kitchen table, where she placed the shoebox on top and opened it. Inside were . . . little pieces of wood, each about an inch thick and about three inches long. There were between thirty and fifty pieces inside.

"Blocks?"

"Sort of. The game is called Jenga. We build a tower out of the pieces and then we each remove a piece until it finally falls over. If it falls on your turn then you lose."

He watched her set the game up, noticed how there was a set of three on each level and how each level was facing the opposite direction. Once everything was put together the way it should have been, she showed him the concept of the game. It seemed simple enough. They took turns removing the pieces, starting out with mostly middle pieces because they were the easiest to move. They put the pieces on top of the 'tower' and had to be careful with that too. Until the piece was securely in place the turn didn't switch.

Once all the middle pieces were taken out the game became harder. It also became more interesting. Michael knew enough to go for the loose pieces because they came out easier, but he also knew they would eventually run out of the loose ones. Then the thing would topple over.

As the 'tower' became more and more unstable, swaying whenever a piece was removed, Michael became more and more tense. They'd basically built something up just to watch it fall. They kept taking the pieces and adding them to the top making it heavier on the other parts that were becoming less and less able to take the weight. In a few minutes, if it held even that long, it would crash and then what? They would just build it again?

It kind of made him sad. They would continue to redo it and the result would be the same. It would eventually fall because of the pieces they were removing.

"I don't know if I like this game," Michael said. "It's being destroyed. Why can't we just build? Something that won't fall."

"Like blocks? Building a castle, maybe?"

He nodded.

Miss Elizabeth shrugged. "Sure. Do you have blocks at your grandmother's? We can go get them."

"We can use these for now. I know she doesn't want to see me, and we were just over there yesterday."

"Michael . . ."

She reached for his arm, knocked her elbow against the table, and the 'tower' began to fall. It was almost in slow motion for Michael. He knew the blocks would fall over the side of the table and to the floor. He was caught between bracing himself for the sound of the blocks would make and watching Miss Elizabeth grab her elbow, more from surprise than anything else.

But there was no sound from the blocks. They'd never hit the floor. Michael knew he'd stopped them from reaching the floor, but he didn't know how he was doing it. He just knew he hadn't wanted to hear the noise from them falling and so . . . they hadn't made the noise.

"Michael?"

He looked at Miss Elizabeth then and saw that she was just staring at the blocks, which were now making their way back to the tabletop. Within seconds the tower had been remade and Miss Elizabeth was just staring at it and at him, going back and forth.

He had done something he wasn't supposed to. He'd shown her his powers. She'd never understand; he didn't even understand. She would be afraid of him now – who wouldn't be? He could do things that weren't natural.

He had messed up already after only two days of being there. This time he had nowhere else he could go.

* * *

Elizabeth didn't know when she'd stood up, almost knocking the chair over with her movements, but she had and was now moving from her side of the table and around to Michael's side. She probably should've actually run away from him, this boy that she suddenly knew could make things happen just by thinking about it, but she didn't.

Blame it on her curiosity, blame it on whatever, but she wasn't scared. In shock, maybe, but not scared. It wasn't like he'd damaged anything. The complete opposite. He'd kept the blocks from hitting the floor . . . and he'd set them back up perfectly.

"Michael?" And just to be sure . . . "You did that. Didn't you?"

And just like that, he was apologizing desperately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, I can't control it."

His blue eyes were open wide and vulnerable. She could tell he was scared of what her reaction would be. It was heartbreaking.

For what felt like the hundredth time since saving him from being run over, she had to reassure him that it was okay. Honestly, though, she'd let him stay after finding out he'd killed at least one person. This was literally nothing compared to that.

"Michael, I'm not mad or – I just wasn't expecting that at all. You never said you could do that."

"It doesn't happen a lot. I didn't wanna hear the noise."

"Oh. Okay." She squatted down in front of him, mostly because he was looking down at the floor now and she wanted him to look at her. "I think that was pretty cool. It's like . . . magic."

"It – you're not scared?"

"No," she said, smiling gently. "I'm not. I've always believed in things that . . . well, things like that. I'd just never seen it until now."

He looked tentatively down at her. "I don't have to leave?"

"No." She placed a hand on one of his. He was sitting ramrod straight with his hands in his lap. "What were my two rules?"

"Not to kill or hurt anything or anyone," he said hesitantly, as if expecting to get lectured.

"And did you break those rules by doing what you just did?"

"No."

"Right. And since you didn't break the rules, would it be right for me to punish you?"

Again, he said no.

"Exactly. You didn't do anything wrong."

His hands, which had been fisted, now began to relax and she squeezed briefly before letting go.

"I'm gonna make some sandwiches now. You go ahead and build if you want."

* * *

Okay, so I had SO MUCH TROUBLE writing this chapter! I knew I wanted to do the Jenga scene, but I originally was going to have him throw a tantrum because he kept losing, but . . . that didn't happen, obviously. So let me know what you guys think. Still not sure about the romance thing, because I'm not even sure how long this is going to be, but I've had one person be against it because of how Michael may come to see her as "Mother" and I'm kind of leaning towards that as well, but we'll see.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Over the course of the next week Elizabeth noticed that Michael was still very careful about using his powers in front of her – she didn't know what he did when he was in his room or away from her for the very few instances he allowed himself to be.

They had gone to the store once again, this time for food and for that shelf she'd told herself she needed to get for Michael's room. They'd stopped by Constance's as well, so Michael could pick up more of his stuff.

Mallory was still there. Elizabeth found out that Constance had offered the girl a place to stay where she could keep an eye on Michael. She was sure to explain to both of them that Michael hadn't done anything as of yet to even worry about while staying with her, though she did mention the fact that he did have powers, but that he hadn't used them for harmful purposes.

"And you haven't . . . sensed anything coming from him?" Constance asked. "A darkness?"

"Not really. Or not in the way you're thinking, I don't think. Not in the way that makes a person evil."

"In what way then?" Mallory asked.

"It's hard to explain. He does have a dark cloud hanging over him a lot of the time, but if you don't understand insecurities or abandonment issues . . ." Elizabeth shrugged. "All I know is that this Michael is not the same as the one from your time period. This Michael would not set the world on fire and just let it burn."

She wondered what had happened in the future to make him that way. She might need to know that so she could help him avoid it.

In the end, Elizabeth went upstairs to help Michael pack up the things he wanted. It beat hanging out downstairs with the other two women.

* * *

Michael was in the middle of packing up his favorite clothes when Miss Elizabeth knocked on the door even though it was open.

"You want some help?"

He shrugged. "I'm almost done. I don't really know what else to bring other than my clothes."

"Well, some of the things you like to play with. You only brought your videos games last time."

"I like baseball. I have a bat and ball."

She smiled a little. "I played softball in high school. I was the starting pitcher most games."

"Do you still play?"

"I'm . . . a little rusty," she admitted. "I could probably get back into the swing of things, though."

Michael decided to bring his sports stuff, which consisted of his bat and ball and a few other things – basketball and soccer ball, things like that. He packed up his toy cars as well, not so much because he played with them, but because he liked the way they looked. He could decorate his shelves with them. He decided to take his toy horses for the same reason.

"Okay, I'm done," he said, taking one last look around his old room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

Michael had put his toys in a large black garbage bag so he wouldn't have to use more than one, and his clothes were in green duffle bag Miss Elizabeth had let him use. She offered to take one of them, but they weren't all that heavy. He could do it himself.

Once downstairs everyone said their goodbyes. Michael knew Gramma would let him come back and visit – she seemed less upset now – but for some reason he felt that her home would never be his home again. He was taking all of the things he wanted with him, so the decision seemed final. It didn't upset him as much as he thought it should have. He felt . . . better with Miss Elizabeth. The darkness wasn't as oppressive in her house for some reason. The voices weren't as loud there.

Outside, once off the porch steps, Michael quickly looked to the right, to the house next to his gramma's. He knew that house was bad; he could feel the evil emanating from the inside, forcing its way out. Whenever he stopped to think about it . . . the force in that house always seemed to be reaching out to him. It scared him and made him curious at the same time.

"I was born in that house," he said, not really talking to Miss Elizabeth but not caring that she heard either.

"The Murder House?"

"You know about it?"

She shrugged. "Only rumors, really. That everyone who buys that house gets killed inside it."

"Hm." He began walking. "My mother died in that house. My dad too."

Miss Elizabeth kept pace with him for a few minutes as they continued toward her house, but then she placed a hand on his arm to still him.

"How did they die?" she asked softly.

"My mom died while giving birth to me. My father was shot to death."

"Oh. And Constance . . ."

"My father's mother. She was there when my mother died. Decided she would raise me as her own."

He began moving again, not wanting to get into it any more than he already had. He only knew the story because of Gramma anyway. He knew both his mother and his father were stuck in that house – or their spirits were anyway. He didn't know why; he just knew there was something about that house, that if you died inside or on the grounds that your spirit was stuck there.

Gramma visited sometimes, but she'd never allowed him to go inside the house. It hadn't really bothered him until now. What if he could see his parents? What if they knew why he was the way he was and they could help him understand it?

Maybe he needed to go in? He wondered if Miss Elizabeth would go with him.

* * *

The next few hours were spent with Michael trying to get his room exactly as he wanted it. The hardest part was trying to get the cars to stay on the shelf he wanted them on. Elizabeth found out the house was slightly off level when they realized the cars wanted to keep rolling off the shelf.

Michael hadn't wanted help, but she had noticed that he felt more at peace when he was with her, so she'd stayed in the room with him offering advice if he wanted it, idly talking when he didn't.

He'd thrown his sports stuff in the closet and had just left it where it had fallen on the floor. He'd tossed his clothes unfolded in the drawers of his dressers. He'd put everything together in whichever way they would fit, which sort of drove Elizabeth crazy, but it was his room. She couldn't tell him how to do things.

That was when he started on the cars. They would sit still for a few seconds after he placed them on the flat surface of the shelf, but then, without fail, they would begin to roll towards the edge. Elizabeth knew if he placed them sideways they would stay put, but she wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out – it was also kind of funny because he just kept trying over and over again.

She could see him getting more and more frustrated, but it wasn't until she actually laughed that he got angry – or, well, hurt from her laughing at him, and then very quickly became angry because of it. For some reason, she though he was angrier because of the hurt he had felt than he was at her laughing at him.

"It's not funny," he complained. He'd been doing better with his speech and not sounding like a child, but he'd regressed back to a whining lilt just then.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have laughed."

"Hm."

He turned back to the shelf. She was surprised he hadn't crossed his arms over his chest and stomped his foot in defiance of what he'd obviously seen as a betrayal on her part. She really shouldn't have laughed at him. She knew his feelings were very easily hurt.

Another car began to roll towards the end, but Michael caught if before it could fall off. This time he did stomp his foot.

"Why won't you stay?" he exclaimed.

Suddenly all the cars were throwing themselves off the shelf and onto the floor. Only Elizabeth knew they hadn't thrown themselves – Michael had done it. He was having a temper tantrum apparently. All kids had them – some adults had them – but with Michael it was different. He could seriously hurt someone without even meaning to.

She approached him slowly. He was shaking too, from anger, so when she touched his shoulder, she wasn't surprised when he jerked away from her.

"Don't! You laughed at me. I couldn't do it right and you laughed at me!"

"I'm sorry," she said again. She reached for him again, this time his hand – the one with the car in it – and he allowed her to touch him. "Let me help?"

He eyed her suspiciously. "You won't laugh again?"

"No, Michael. I won't laugh again."

"Okay."

He handed her the car and she placed it on the shelf – sideways like she'd thought – so it wouldn't slide back off.

"Do it like this, and they can't roll off," she said.

Michael did as she said and calmed down as he was doing it. He was fine now that he knew how to do it without a problem.

"I didn't mean to get so mad," he said after he was done. His tone was soft, apologetic, but he was no longer speaking like a child.

"I know. I still shouldn't have laughed at you. It wasn't nice. It's just . . . when something isn't working, you should try another way. Don't get mad."

"I'll try to remember that."

* * *

It was over dinner that night – spaghetti and garlic bread – that Michael brought up the house again. He even brought up wanting to go in.

"Why?"

"I've never been inside before," he said. "Or not since Gramma took me out when I was a baby, anyway."

"Well, we can't just go in. It's not ours."

"No one is living there right now. It's not like anyone would mind."

"Uh, the cops would mind. We could get in trouble for breaking and entering."

"We won't get in trouble. We could sneak around the back. Gramma goes in all the time."

"Constance breaks into the Murder House?"

"She goes to talk to my dad."

"Michael, you said you dad was dead."

Michael could see the disbelief on Miss Elizabeth's face.

"He is. His spirit is locked in that house. So is my mother's."

Miss Elizabeth put her fork on her plate and then stared at him intensely. She was probably wondering if he was telling tales.

"You're the one who said you believe in, well, things like what I can do. What's so different about ghosts?"

She shook her head and began to grin.

"You know what? Why not? I heard the house was haunted, so why don't we check it out? Tonight, though. We have to wait until it's dark."

"So you'll come with me?" She nodded. "Good. I would've gone by myself, but I really didn't want to."

* * *

That was how Elizabeth found herself at the backdoor of The Murder House at one o'clock in the morning. She couldn't believe she was doing this. She'd never done anything illegal in her life and there she was getting ready to break into one of the houses on her street.

"Michael, I just realized this is the dumbest thing I've ever done."

"You don't have to come with me. If the idea of spirits scares you . . ."

"The idea of going to jail scares me," she said. "Besides, I'm already here."

This was another thing she could blame on her unending curiosity. The moment he'd mentioned that there were ghosts in the house, something she'd heard before but hadn't believed, she had decided she'd had to come and see. And she really wasn't scared of ghosts.

It turned out that they didn't actually have to break in at all. The door was unlocked. That should have been a warning sign because a house was never unlocked when it was on the market. The realtor would have the only key to open the place up. Although, if Constance could come and go as she pleased . . . maybe she'd left the back door unlocked.

Another warning sign was the feeling Elizabeth got as she stepped inside the house. The back door had led into the kitchen area, and as soon as her foot hit the tiled floor she felt as if she was being smothered. The air was oppressive in the house. She didn't know why. Maybe it was because there were no lights – or maybe she just knew she shouldn't be there. It wasn't her house, she had no claim.

Michael walked forward and against her better judgment, she followed. They stopped in what had probably been the living room at one time – or a den or entertainment area. There were tables and chairs, a sofa covered with a sheet, and a few long-standing lamps in the corners. There was a fireplace against the far wall.

The house was warm, which surprised her because it was November and the house didn't have any electricity, which meant it didn't have any heat. It wasn't normal.

"Michael, why exactly are we here?"

Whatever it was . . . she hoped he would find it soon so they could leave. She didn't like this house and it had nothing to do with whether or not it was haunted by spirits of previous owners. Something else was there – something not human. She could feel it, like liquid evil creeping over her skin.

She was already sweating, but it wasn't a good type of sweat that came from a good jog. It was more the type of sweat one gets from having the flu – a clammy type of sweat that leaves you shaking.

"I want to see my parents."

"Oh, Michael –"

"The spirits only appear to people they want to see them."

The deep voice came from behind them and Elizabeth jumped nearly a foot in the air. When she turned around, she saw a man with dark hair – graying a little – and blue eyes. The evil was not coming from him, but he was a spirit. He had to be.

"Who are you?"

She noticed Michael was calm. Maybe he'd never been in the house before, but he obviously knew who the man was.

"My name is Ben. I used to own this house."

And had obviously died there.

"You said the spirits only appear to people they want to see them," Michael said. "Does that mean my parents don't want to see me?"

Ben didn't say anything, but that was answer enough.

Elizabeth let Michael and Ben talk for a few more minutes, Ben trying his best to comfort Michael, whose bottom lip was now trembling. It had to hurt, finding out that your parents didn't want you. It didn't matter why.

"Michael, I don't like it here. We should leave."

There were shadows playing over the walls and she knew it wasn't really happening but she felt as if they were closing in around them. Around her and Michael specifically. And the shadows . . . those were the evil things. They would tear her apart if they reached her.

She was aware that her breath had started to come out faster and faster.

"Michael!" Her voice was hushed, but it got his attention. His blue eyes fixed on her. "We have to leave. I . . . I really am scared."

It didn't take him long to realize that, yes, she really was afraid. He hadn't gotten what he came for, but she was leaving – she had to leave – and that was what decided him.

They left the way they came, through the back door, and she could breath easy again as soon as she was outside.

"Miss Elizabeth?" Michael's voice was concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Don't tell me you didn't feel that."

"I felt . . . something. But you've gone white and you look as if you could be sick."

"I'm okay. Now. I feel like I need a shower, but I'm okay."

She grabbed his arm to drag him off the back porch.

"And Michael, I am never going in that house again. You shouldn't either. There's . . . something there and I feel like it could hurt us."

As they were walking back home, she began to feel a lot better. Her shaking subsided and the night air felt good against her skin. She felt as if she were being cleansed. She'd always loved the feel of the wind against her bare skin, but she'd never needed it as much as she did that night.

* * *

Elizabeth did take a shower as soon as she got home. She'd already had one that morning after her jog, but she'd definitely felt dirty after being in that house. She hadn't been joking when she'd said she didn't want Michael going back there. She didn't know what was in that house, but it had been coming for them. It would've hurt her, but she had a feeling it would've destroyed Michael and not by killing him, but by feeding the darkness he already felt. She didn't want that for him.

After she was cleaned off and dressed, she went to Michael's room so she could read some more of the first Harry Potter book – they had only a few chapters left – but stopped in the doorway, book in hand. Michael was not ready for bed; he was sitting in the middle of the bed, knees drawn up, arms holding them close to his chest. His head was hidden against his knees and she could tell he was crying even though he wasn't moving or making a sound.

"Michael?"

He looked up, his blue eyes watery and ringed with red. He must've been crying for a while.

"Why didn't they want me? Why does everyone make me leave?"

He was sounding like a lost little boy again, and Elizabeth suddenly wondered if that was a defense mechanism. Make himself sound small so someone – especially a woman – would want to take care of him. She knew she felt like taking care of him, but it had nothing to do with him being a little boy at the moment. It had everything to do with the fact that he'd just found out that his parents wanted nothing to do with him.

She should have asked how he was on the way back to the house, but she'd been too shaken up to do so.

She went to sit beside him and placed the book on the bed. The story could wait. She placed her hand on his back and began rubbing up and down. He tensed at first, but relaxed when he realized what she was doing.

"Michael, I can't speak for your parents. I don't know what was going through their minds."

He'd said that his mother had died during child birth, so maybe . . . maybe she blamed him for her death. Maybe his dad blamed him too.

"What I do know is that I don't mind you being here, and I'm not making you leave. I don't – I'm not your mom or your grandmother, but I have been taking care of you, right? And it's not because I feel like I have to."

He scrunched his nose up as he sniffled. "Really?"

"Really."

Michael allowed his head to fall against her shoulder and she brought her other arm up so she could wrap him in a hug. He basically melted against her and she wondered, her eyes stinging now, if this boy had ever actually received a hug. Constance didn't seem like the hugging type.

Michael's shoulders jerked a few times, and Elizabeth realized he was about to start sobbing. Apparently, he was one of those types who cried harder when comfort was being provided.

It just made her hold on tighter.

* * *

Okay, enter the Murder House! I have ideas for this house, but it's not going to be a main feature of this story for too long. I just had to introduce the idea of Michael's parents and all that so that Michael would have a reason to go in. Anyway, let me know what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Elizabeth stayed with Michael until he'd calmed down enough to go to sleep. They didn't get any reading done that night.

Before going to bed herself, Elizabeth got a bottle of water from the fridge and placed it on Michael's bedside table. He'd cried harder that night than he had even when Constance had thrown him out of her house. He would need to rehydrate when he woke up. His eyes and head would probably be hurting too. If he hadn't have just gone to sleep, she would've washed his face for him like she'd done the first day he'd been there.

With nothing else she could do for him, she went to her own room. It didn't take her long to fall asleep. It didn't take her long to start dreaming either.

In the dream, there was a man – or more a figure, really, all black and definitely solid – standing in her doorway, which she always kept closed but for some reason was open. The figure didn't do anything – just stood there – but she could tell it was watching her. She didn't like it. There was such a predatory feeling coming from it, and she couldn't move. That was the worst part, the helplessness she was feeling.

That was it. That was all it took for her to wake up. Her door was closed and nobody was standing there, nobody was in the room with her. Her heart was still beating, more rapidly than was normal, but she was fine. She was not helpless, she never was in real life – she always knew what to do, or did if she stopped and thought about it for a while.

Even though she felt okay, even after the dream, she decided to get up and check the front and back doors and all the windows to make sure they were secured. They were. She even checked Michael's room, for it had two windows in it. He was sleeping soundly, though he must've gotten hot some time after she'd left because he'd opened one of the windows about halfway – still not enough for someone to have gotten through, though.

She closed it, deciding she would just turn the heat down in the house a few degrees. Besides, if the window was open and the heat was on at the same time, it was just defeating the purpose of the heat.

Once she was sure everything was locked up tight and that nothing could get in without breaking in, she went back to bed. She fell back to sleep without a problem.

* * *

The next morning over breakfast, Elizabeth brought up the open window to Michael, but he didn't remember opening it. Given that he might be prone to sleepwalking – for example, waking up in his grandmother's bed and not knowing how he'd gotten there – she thought that was possible.

Michael was mostly silent during breakfast unless she asked him a direct question. He seemed almost shy – like he had been the first few days he'd started staying with her. It probably had to do with what had happened the night before. She'd seen him cry before, seen him break down, but she'd never held him through it before. She was sure no one ever had, and he probably didn't know what to do with that.

Mentally he was still a child, so at least she didn't have to worry about any male ego getting in the way and being the cause of his sudden emotional distance from her. She decided to just let him be.

After her food settled, she went on her daily jog. Michael was getting better about those. She'd always come back when she'd said she would, and she was usually only gone for thirty minutes. He trusted she wouldn't just leave him alone now, that she wouldn't take off and never stop running.

That morning she took her usual route, right past the Murder House, and was surprised that it didn't bother her. She knew something was evil about that house now. How could she just run past it without having a reaction to it? She was still curious about it, but not curious enough to go back in.

She was, however, curious enough to stop by the Langdon house on her way back. She didn't care that she was sweaty and that her clothes were sticking to her. There were things she needed to know, things she was sure Constance could clear up for her. Or Mallory even.

She knocked first and waited for Constance to let her in. She was done breaking into houses.

The first thing she said once she was inside was, "Michael told me about his parents."

Constance went almost completely still. It took her a few seconds to get back to normal, but then she led Elizabeth to the kitchen. Mallory, who had just come downstairs, followed along. That seemed to be their meeting place or something.

"What did he tell you?"

"His mother died during child birth and his father was shot to death. I also know neither one of them want to have anything to do with him."

"And how do you know that?"

"Michael wanted to . . . go in the house next door. He wanted to meet his parents, I guess. I'd heard it was haunted, so I decided to go with him. We met someone named Ben."

Mallory sat down across from her and tilted her head. She even squinted her eyes a bit.

"What?"

"Did something happen?"

"Other than Michael finding out that his parents pretty much abandoned him from birth . . ."

"That's not it."

Elizabeth shrugged. "That's it. I made us leave because I got a really bad feeling from the place."

"I should think so. It's a portal to hell," Constance said.

"And yet you visit it a lot?" That was her gut reaction thing to say. She didn't care how accusatory it sounded.

"My children are there. That used to be my house."

"And Michael was born there . . ."

"And conceived."

"Right. Back to that. Your son is his father."

"His name is Tate. And he has no claim on Michael."

"Hm . . . and his mother? They're both in that house. Why . . . I mean, why won't they see Michael – or let him see them?"

"Because they don't want him to," Constance said simply. "They know what he is."

"What? The anti-Christ? They knew from the time he was born or something?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Say that's true . . . how did they know?"

"Did you know he had a twin? That baby died almost as soon as it came out."

"So . . . you're blaming him for something he had no control over? A lot of pregnant women start out having twins and then one of the babies becomes the dominant one and the other one dies. He probably just absorbed more of the genetic material. That doesn't make Michael the anti-Christ."

"No, a very specific set of circumstances surrounding his conception make him what he is. He was born from the darkness of that house."

"That's funny, because the darkness is still there. I could feel it when I was in there last night."

"Tate was bothered by the darkness as well, when he was alive. It . . . possessed him the night Michael was conceived, the night he was with Vivien – Michael's mother."

Elizabeth scoffed. "You mean the devil made him do it? You're crazy."

Constance gave her a sad smile. "I wish I were crazy. I wish nothing I'm saying were true."

"Elizabeth, did you know the ghosts in that house can take corporeal form. They can be touched. They can touch." That was Mallory and she was speaking gently, as if she wasn't trying to force information so much as get Elizabeth to come to a conclusion herself.

"So?"

"Vivien was the current owner when Michael was conceived. Tate was already in the house. He . . . died when he was young."

"Are you –" Elizabeth stood from the table and began pacing the length of the floor. "Are you saying that . . . a ghost had sex with a human and . . . that's how Michael was born?"

"Tate was not himself when . . . I already said –"

"Yeah, yeah, possessed by the devil – but . . . he was still dead."

But . . . this was making a little more sense now. Jesus had been born of a virgin and a spirit – _the_ Spirit, actually – and so it would make some kind of sense for the anti-Christ to have been born of human and spirit as well.

"Is that what you meant when you said that Tate has no claim on him?" Constance nodded. "Did you know all this when you took Michael in?"

"I knew the story, yes. I don't know if I believed it until he started doing certain things."

"Hm."

Elizabeth still didn't know if she believed all of this. Sure, she believed some of it, but the Tate thing was hard to grasp. His spirit had been fully human, probably, so possessed or not, his body should not have been able to help produce a child.

"I thought I could love him. I thought I had experience enough with Tate and his up and down moods, but –"

"But what? He wasn't the child you wanted so his feelings didn't matter?"

"They were all that mattered. For so long! You don't understand having to walk on eggshells around him!"

No, she didn't. She'd never felt threatened by Michael, not even the day before when he'd lost his temper with the cars. She hadn't felt as if he'd even thought about hurting her.

"Well, this boy that you're so scared of couldn't stop crying last night because he feels that nobody loves him! No matter what he's supposed to be or is going to be, he's a child now! He doesn't deserve to feel that way."

She wanted to get out of there. She couldn't stand the sight of Constance's face just then, not when she was just trying to justify why she'd given up on Michael when what he really needed was someone who wouldn't give up. She hoped she could be that for him.

She walked through the house and to the front door. She had seen Mallory stand up as she'd left the kitchen, knew the girl was following her now, but she didn't really want anything to do with her either. Mallory had tried to kill Michael without even giving him a chance. She was just as bad as the woman in the kitchen.

"Wait," Mallory said as Elizabeth stepped out onto the porch. She even grabbed Elizabeth's wrist when it didn't seem as though she were going to stop. "Please."

"What?"

"I have a feeling you're going to see this through, so let me give you some advice. Michael can see inside you – or at least –"

"At least the one from your time period could. I get it. But . . . you don't get it at all. He is not _him_. He hasn't done what the other one did, and I wasn't around the first time so that changes the time line already. He might not ever and yet you're blaming him for everything the other one did. It's not fair."

"Neither was him killing my sisters!"

"He hasn't! And he might never! And what happened there anyway? I haven't seen anything at all about Michael that says he'd randomly kill anyone, let alone a whole group."

She noticed that Mallory was quick to look away, and there it was.

"You did something to him. Didn't you? Maybe he reacted overly, but you or your sisters caused him to go on a rampage and it's really your fault for the way he turned out . . ."

"It's not that simple. I'm not going to lie. There are certain rules we witches live by and someone he cared about very much broke one and we had to act. She killed one of our own, so she had to die."

Elizabeth knew nothing about witchcraft or the ways of the witches except from movies and books, which she didn't trust to be accurate at all, so she didn't know if what Mallory was saying was true, but still . . .

"You killed her. And that made him angry enough to come after you and your coven?"

"Yes."

The thing was Mallory didn't seem to be remorseful at all of the fact that Michael had been hurt even if she was sorry for how it had made him react.

"I don't know if I want you around Michael when I'm not there," she said. "I don't know if I want him here if I'm not here. I don't trust either of you."

"That's . . . that's your choice, but let me finish what I was going to say. I know you don't believe Michael's the anti-Christ – there should be a mark, you know the one – but either way, the darkness, it comes and goes, I've seen it. If it sees you as a threat, it will present itself one way or another, and Michael may not be able to control it. I just . . . thought I should warn you."

Elizabeth nodded before turning to leave. She hadn't noticed before how dark the sky had become. It looked like it was going to storm. She needed to get home.

* * *

Michael was pacing the living room floor when Miss Elizabeth came in the front door. She was late. She didn't usually take so long on her jogs. He didn't like the break in the routine. It threw his schedule off and made him feel anxious.

The fact that he'd apparently opened the window the night before without remembering he'd done it didn't help. He hadn't had that happen – him doing something without being aware of it – since he'd come to live with Miss Elizabeth. It hadn't happened since the night he'd ended up in Gramma's room. He'd woken up only to realize he was choking the life out of his gramma. He didn't want that to happen with Miss Elizabeth.

She was the only light he'd ever really known and he didn't want to be the one to put it out.

"You were out too long," he said.

"What?"

Michael could tell she was distracted. And her eyes were a bit wider than they normally were.

"Thirty minutes. That's how long you're usually gone. It's been an hour."

"I stopped by your grandmother's house on the way back."

"Oh."

"Michael, I need you to promise me something." She grabbed him by the shoulders and held him in place. "Okay?"

"What?" He didn't want to promise something he didn't know he was promising.

"Don't go back to your grandma's without me. I don't . . . I don't trust Mallory with you, okay?"

"Okay."

He didn't really know Mallory and he had no need to go to Gramma's at all anymore since he had all of his favorite things with him.

Miss Elizabeth released his shoulders and walked past him. He knew she would be going to shower now. She always did after jogging. Something was bothering her, though, he could tell. Something other than what she'd said – something other than Mallory and Gramma.

He hoped it wasn't something he'd done. It couldn't have been. She'd been fine before the jog. Something must've happened during the time she'd been gone – something at Gramma's probably.

Maybe she really was just worried for him.

* * *

Taking showers usually helped Elizabeth think, and that was something she really needed to do at the moment. Her head was full of everything she'd just learned. She didn't want Michael knowing any of it, so she hoped what Mallory said wasn't true about him being able to see inside people.

She wasn't sure what to make of any of what she'd learned. A woman named Vivien had been the owner of the house when Michael had been born; a spirit had gotten her pregnant – but not just any spirit, a spirit possessed by the devil.

Elizabeth didn't know if she believed in the devil – or not in the whole 'the devil made me do it' concept. People were people, and sometimes people sucked and did things they shouldn't that caused other people pain. That was it.

She'd always equated the devil with the temptations that got out of hand – like anger turning to rage that turned into wrath, which could turn into murder. So maybe she did believe in the devil, but it was more the little thoughts that run through your head when you're not actively controlling your brain. He was the Iago whispering in your ear that your spouse was cheating on you even though he or she wasn't, which could throw you into a murderous rage if you let him.

Whether the devil was real or not . . . she didn't want Michael knowing people thought he was the devil's son. He had such a big heart for things he cared about, and he felt so much, she didn't want him shutting anything out. She didn't want him to stop trying to be good.

And he had the capacity for doing good. Someone who was truly bad wouldn't question why he did the things he did, wouldn't care that others saw him as doing and being evil. But Michael did, and he cared what people thought. He needed acceptance and approval so much and she was going to try for him.

She was going to try her hardest not to let Michael turn into the man Mallory was so afraid of, so angry at.

She just hoped she was up to the job.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

That night Miss Elizabeth read one of the last few chapters of the book she was reading to Michael. It didn't help him settle for bed, though, because he could tell that she was still bothered by something. He could also tell she didn't want to tell him about it.

He remembered what she'd said about Mallory, about not trusting her. He didn't know what had happened to make her feel that way in the short amount of time she'd been at his gramma's that day, but something obviously had because she'd never mentioned not trusting Mallory before.

Once Michael was sure she was done reading, after she'd marked her place and closed the book, Michael placed a hand over her wrist and wrapped his fingers around it so she would know he didn't want her to leave just yet.

She looked surprised. This was the first time he'd really initiated any physical contact between them. He hadn't felt safe enough to do it before, but after last night, after she'd just held him, he felt he could trust her.

"Are you okay? Your eyes have been different since you came back from gramma's."

Elizabeth shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"They were angry, your eyes, and a little scared. And you said you don't trust Mallory."

"I don't know if I trust her," Elizabeth admitted.

"Are you angry at her and scared of her?" Michael let go of her wrist now that he knew she wasn't going to go anywhere. "Or did she say something to make you scared of me?"

"I am not scared of you. I have never been scared of you." Miss Elizabeth took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Mallory and I had a . . . difference of opinion about something and that is why I don't know if I can trust her with you."

"She wants to hurt me."

Miss Elizabeth stiffened and Michael knew it was true. Mallory, someone he didn't even know, wanted him hurt. He didn't know why, and he didn't really care. He would just do what Miss Elizabeth had asked him to and not go over there without her. If Mallory tried to hurt him, he would fight back, and bad things would happen – something bad that might make Miss Elizabeth make him leave like Gramma had.

"Yes and no. You remind her of someone and that's who she really wants to hurt. You're here and people are good at placing blame where blame doesn't lie. You just need to be careful."

"Okay."

She smiled warmly at him, some of the anger and fear out of her eyes now. Michael felt an unfamiliar warmth fill his chest when he realized that he'd done that. He'd helped her feel better. She'd done so much for him just in the short amount of time he'd been living with her, it was nice that he'd been able to do even that.

* * *

That was the first night Elizabeth began hearing things going on in the house that she couldn't explain away. She had another dream about the dark figure standing in her doorway only to wake up and have the door be closed, only this time she heard footsteps outside her door. She recognized the creaks of the floorboards as the footsteps went across the hall.

At first, she thought it was Michael – either having trouble sleeping or getting up for water or something – but it kept going, pacing back and forth. What was he doing? Maybe he was sleepwalking.

She looked at her door, specifically the small gap between the door and the floor, and when she saw the shadow of feet there she called out to Michael and the shadow stopped there at her door. He'd obviously heard her.

"Michael, go back to bed."

There was a small tap at her door – three small knocks – and when she didn't answer the sound repeated, three knocks again.

Why wasn't he saying anything, asking to come in if that was what he wanted?

"Michael, I think you're sleepwalking. Go back to bed."

Another three knocks, this time louder, more insistent.

She groaned and looked at her alarm clock. It was a little after three in the morning. She really should get him back to bed – or at least try – so she could go back to sleep herself.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

She stood up, glad that she had a carpet on her floor so she never had the shock of cold she would have if it weren't there. She began walking to her closed door. Almost as soon as she reached the door the shadow disappeared and she heard footsteps going down the hall towards Michael's room.

"Nice timing," she muttered. She waited for the closing of Michael's door, but it never came. Maybe he really was asleep and just couldn't have been bothered to close it back. It didn't really matter.

She went back to bed and was almost asleep when the footsteps started again – up and down the hallway, pausing at her door, over and over, until they finally stopped and the knocking began again.

Even though Michael was the only other person in the house, Elizabeth got a very strong feeling that the shadow outside her door now didn't belong to him. He wouldn't play with her like this. Or he never had before, anyway. Still she called out to him when the knocking sounded again.

She wanted to test what had happened earlier, so she got up again and began walking to the door. The footsteps again faded towards Michael's room. Someone was in the house, she was sure of it, and whoever it was had a sick sense of humor.

Elizabeth didn't know what took over her mind then, but like a mother fearing for a child's life she threw her door open and rushed to Michael's room. His door was closed but not locked, and she was able to get in easily.

She didn't see anyone other than Michael, who was sleeping outside of the covers. It was awfully warm in his room, maybe she needed to check the air vent in the room because it wasn't that warm anywhere else in the house. The warmth was familiar, though. It was the same smothery feeling she'd felt when she'd gone into The Murder House.

God, what if they'd brought something back with them? What was she supposed to do with that if they had? From everything she'd ever read on the subject of hauntings she knew the first thing you were supposed to do was make sure the spirit knew that it wasn't welcome, especially if it started manifesting itself in unpleasant ways. You had to have confidence when doing it; the spirit had to know you meant business.

She wasn't feeling very confident at the moment because she didn't know exactly what was in her house. She knew it wasn't another person, though, she was certain of that now. Something was in that room with her, she could almost feel it breathing down her neck. She was starting to sweat like she had in that house. It would soon make her feel sick if she stayed there.

"This is my house," she said. "You don't get to take over my house. If you're going to cause problems, you're not welcome here."

She felt good as she said it because she meant it. This was her house; whatever was there did not get to take away the security that brought her. She wouldn't let it.

"If you don't leave on your own, I will find a way to make you leave."

A sudden heat filled her, a painful one, right in her gut, and she felt as if she were going to vomit. But she couldn't back down, couldn't show weakness. That would be the worst thing she could do just then. This was the first confrontation and she couldn't let it win. Things would just get worse if she did that.

The lights in the room began to flicker on and off – just very fast spurts of electricity that faded almost as soon as they came. She knew it was a show of power from whatever this thing was. It was enough to have Michael jerking awake in bed.

He rubbed his eyes quickly and took in the state of the lights before his gaze set on her.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

Most of the pain stopped then, a lingering ache was all that was left. It felt as if she'd done too many sit-ups and she felt weak all of a sudden as she fell to her knees. Her arms instinctively pulled in close to her middle protectively.

Michael was there in seconds. He was on his knees, too, and his hands had landed on her back. He was rubbing her back sloppily, trying to imitate how she'd comforted him the night before.

"What happened? The lights –" They were no longer flickering. "Are you okay? What are you doing in my room?"

She gasped for air before answering. "Something was here."

"Something . . ."

She didn't feel like explaining everything just then, and she no longer felt whatever that presence had been. It was gone for now.

"I'll explain everything tomorrow. Okay? I'm really tired."

"I'm – okay." Michael helped her stand. "Are you – it hurt you."

"It tried."

Elizabeth was able to walk on her own, but Michael followed her to her room anyway, and stayed in the doorway until she was back in bed. She noticed he looked a little nervous, much as he had earlier when he'd made sure she wasn't scared of him.

"Are you sure it wasn't me? That I . . . didn't do it."

"I'm very sure this wasn't you."

"Then something from the house. I brought it with me."

Elizabeth hated that he was so sure that this was his fault even though she did think that whatever it was had latched onto him even if it was focusing on her.

Mallory's words echoed in her head about how the darkness would present itself in some way if she became a threat to it. It had presented itself that night – and maybe even the night before in her dream.

"We'll talk about it in the morning, Michael. I need to sleep. But . . . it's not your fault. You didn't know, and neither did I. Okay?"

He nodded his head but didn't speak, so she didn't know exactly how he was feeling about what she'd just said. He closed her door and she heard him go back to his room and close his too. It didn't take long for her to sleep, she was that exhausted.

There were no more disturbances that night.

* * *

Michael didn't sleep well the rest of the night. He dozed off and on, but he really was worried for Miss Elizabeth. Something had been hurting her. Something evil. He couldn't feel it anymore, but the air had been so oppressive when he'd woken up to find her there in his room.

He still didn't know how she'd come to be there. Had she heard something in his room? What had brought her there? Was whatever it was that had been hurting Miss Elizabeth really there for him? Had she come in to protect him? And was that why she'd been hurt? If that was the case then it really was his fault. He'd been the one to want to go to The Murder House, and if she got hurt because he'd brought something back from there . . .

He couldn't let that happen. Whatever it was couldn't have her.

* * *

As was to be excepted, neither Michael nor Miss Elizabeth was that rested when they woke up to face the day. They had cereal and toast for breakfast and neither one of them really talked while they ate. They didn't have the energy.

Even after they ate and Michael remembered she said she'd tell him what had happened the night before – that morning really – he could only mutter that he was ready to talk. He was tired, and he knew she was tired. Her usually light mocha skin was a shade lighter, but she had dark rings around her eyes from her rest being interrupted. He wondered if he did as well.

She explained to the best of her ability about the footsteps and the banging on her bedroom door and how she'd thought it had been him at first, and about how the footsteps had began going to his room when she'd tried to open her own door.

Whatever it had been had definitely been playing with her.

"Michael, whatever it is, I think it does mean us harm. If it starts messing with you, you can't let it. Okay? It's not welcome here and you have to let it know that."

"I don't think it's after me, Miss Elizabeth. It came after you. If it wanted me, why would it get your attention first?"

It was true. Michael hadn't heard the footsteps, he hadn't heard any banging on his door. It had ended up in his room, yes, but it had drawn her there first.

* * *

Later that day Elizabeth received a call from her mom, mostly because Elizabeth hadn't gotten in touch with either of her parents in the last few weeks. Not that that was unusual. Her family was not the most communicative. Her mom and dad both thought the fact that they had taken care of her financially made up for everything they had failed to do while they'd been raising her.

Both her mother and her father had always put their work ahead of spending time with their children. They had never made them feel as if they were a burden or a mistake, but they didn't believe in quality time either. They mostly just threw cash at them and hoped for the best.

When Elizabeth had decided to move out that year, her parents had been all too happy to help her financially. If she'd been able, she would've brought her sister Tara with her, but she hadn't. That was probably a good thing, considering what was going on in her house at the moment.

"I'm just calling to see how you're settling in. You've been there long enough now."

"Um, yeah. Everything's been great."

That technically wasn't a lie. Things had been going great until . . . well, the last two nights.

"Do you have everything you need?"

"Right now, yeah."

It was true. From the money she made delivering groceries – Constance wasn't the only one she did that for – and the money her mom and dad sent her monthly – guilty conscious much? – she was doing all right. She appreciated the help even if she didn't like the reason she received it.

"I still don't know why you had to pick a house so far away. There were plenty for sale around here. I don't like the thought of you living alone there."

"Mom, it's only an hour away." She didn't mention that she wasn't alone. That would just open a doorway for a conversation she didn't want to have. "And you know me. I'm good on my own. I always have been."

"Yes. I know. You just have never been on your own quite so far away."

"I'll be okay, and I promise I'll call you more. I've just been busy the past couple weeks."

They talked for a few more minutes, but eventually her mom had to go – she was an on-call doctor. Her mom didn't even leave her with an "I love you."

"Nice talking to you too."

Michael, who had started out listening to her conversation but had lost interest midway through, was playing a video game now. She couldn't keep from grinning when she realized it was Mario Cart.

She sat down on the sofa beside him. Without pausing the game, he said, "Your mom doesn't sound very nice."

"Sometimes she isn't." Then Elizabeth shook her head. "That's not fair. She's nice the only way she knows how to be. She loves me the only way she knows how and that's by making sure I'm financially set. There are worse things."

Michael did pause the game then, and he seemed much older all of a sudden while still remaining open the way only a child can.

"You always see the good in things," he said. "I don't know how you do it."

Elizabeth didn't know what to say because she herself didn't know how she did it. It was just something she'd always done – tried to see the light through the darkness. The darkness had never really bothered her; without it the light couldn't shine.

* * *

That night they went to bed earlier than normal because of the lack of sleep the night before. Michael told her she didn't have to but Miss Elizabeth still read to him. He paid attention the best he could, but his mind wasn't really focused on the story like it normally was. He knew they were getting close to the end because Harry had just come up against the bad guy – Michael had been sure it was Snape, but instead it was Professor Quirrell.

"Miss Elizabeth?" His voice was quiet. He didn't really want to ask what he was about to ask, but he knew he had to. "What if that thing comes back?"

He watched as she bit her lip, watched as she thought about his question and how to best answer it. It took her a while.

"I'll do the only thing I can. I'll fight it until it goes away again."

"But what if it doesn't? What if you fight it and it hurts you like it tried to do last night?"

"I . . . I'm not going to lie to you, Michael. It could very well do that. I think I made it mad last night and that's why it tried to hurt me. I told it to go away, and I don't think it liked that very much."

"But it did go away. Right?"

"It did. I don't know how long it'll stay away, but, yeah, it went away."

"Good."


	8. Chapter 8

Jinx: I think you're a guest, not sure, but thanks for commenting on the demon stuff. I did research for it and that's what I found. I'm vaguely interested in all things paranormal, without actively pursuing it.

Chapter Eight

The next morning, Elizabeth woke up well rested. There had been no disturbances the night before. That had to be a good sign. Plus, the thing had never presented itself during the day, so that meant she was probably going to have a good day as well.

Today was a delivery day, which meant she and Michael would have to go to the store multiple times and take people their things. Luckily, the store already had everything bagged, so all she had to do was pick the bags up and deliver everything to its rightful place. Michael didn't have to go with her – it wasn't as if it was his job – but he didn't like her being gone for very long and on days that she worked she was usually gone for about three or four hours.

Elizabeth got up, did her morning routine that ended with her being dressed for the day, and went on out to the kitchen to make breakfast. On the way, she saw Michael on the sofa, asleep, a game controller on the floor in front of him – the TV was still on, but no sound was coming from it, so she turned it off. His feet were hanging over the arm of the sofa – he was so tall he couldn't fit comfortably on the couch and she didn't understand how he could sleep that way, but there it was.

"Michael?" she called to him, but he didn't budge. She went to him to shake him awake and he grunted, but that was it. "Michael, wake up."

This time he did, and he looked around for a few seconds as if he didn't know where he was before realizing he was in the living room.

"I couldn't sleep," he said. "I played a game and must've gotten tired."

"Okay. I only woke you so I could make breakfast. Do you want anything or do you want to go back to sleep?"

Michael gave her an impish type of grin. He was learning how to be playful. "When do I not want food when you make it?"

"True." She ruffled his already sleep-rumpled hair. "Go get dressed. I work today, so . . ."

Michael got up – though not quickly – as Elizabeth went into the kitchen to start breakfast. They would be having pancakes that morning.

* * *

The mood over the breakfast table that morning was much more alive than it had been the morning before. Miss Elizabeth had not been bothered overnight and she was much more energetic and happier that morning. It was infectious. Michael found that he could smile easier because _she_ was smiling easier.

Michael had told a little fib when Miss Elizabeth had woken him up that morning. It was true that he hadn't been able to sleep right away the night before, but it wasn't because he couldn't; it was because he hadn't wanted to. He'd waited a while before getting up and going to the living room.

He'd kept an eye on the hallway in case whatever had come into the house the night before decided to come back and go after Miss Elizabeth again. He didn't know what he would have done if it had come back, but he would've done his best not to let it get to her. She made him feel safe and happy. Michael wanted to be able to do the same for her.

"Hey, so I'm going to go for my jog," she said. "I didn't get to do it yesterday because I was so tired."

"Okay." He waited because the way she'd been speaking he could tell there was something else.

"You should go through your sports stuff and find your bat. Maybe we can swing by the batting cage on the way before I have to be at work . . ."

As usual, the idea of doing something new excited Michael and he nodded enthusiastically. He'd never been to a batting cage, but he did know what one was.

"Sound okay?" she asked.

"Sounds great. Are you sure it won't make you late?"

"We'll be fine. I'll just take a short jog this morning to make up for the time."

So while Miss Elizabeth was gone he went through the bag of his sports stuff. It wasn't hard to find. The bag was right inside his closet; he hadn't moved it since he'd put it in there. He took his bat out – a wooden one – and took it with him to wait in the living room for Miss Elizabeth to come home.

He turned the TV on and watched cartoons. He would be there for a while since she would have to shower when she got back.

* * *

They arrived at the batting cage around twelve-thirty and stayed for about an hour. They took turns using his bat and they started out with the slowest pitch level there was. Elizbeth hadn't actually swung a bat since her high school days – so she was about three years out of practice, but that was okay.

Michael seemed to know how to stand and position his arms to swing the bat correctly and he was fine with the speed – any speed, and they got up to the 60-mile-an-hour pitches. He missed very rarely.

"Michael, are you cheating?"

"No, Miss Elizabeth. I'm just that good." He shrugged. "If I was cheating, I wouldn't miss any of them."

"Hm. Okay."

"When I was . . . smaller . . . gramma would sometimes take me to the park and we would toss the ball back and forth, or she would throw it so I could hit it."

"That sounds nice," Elizabeth said, though she couldn't imagine Constance playing ball with anyone, not even a child.

"It was."

After playing for a while, Elizabeth got them each a hotdog and a small bag of chips for lunch. She had to head into work, so she ate while she drove. Michael fiddled with the radio, flipping through the stations until finding something he liked.

Michael stayed in the car when she got to work. Strictly speaking, he wasn't supposed to ride with her while she was on the job, but what her boss didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and as long as she did her job, she knew he really wouldn't care.

She only had four deliveries to make that day, but since she was allowed to only do one delivery at a time, she had to go back and forth from the store each time. Constance was on her list – Constance liked her deliveries done every Friday – Elizabeth would just get those last, and it would allow her to pick up a few things herself.

Most of the people Elizabeth delivered to were of the elderly variety, and they were extremely generous with tips. Elizabeth thought it had less to do with the fact that she was delivering their groceries and more to do with the fact that she was nice to them and treated them like they were people.

Even though it wasn't his job, Michael did help her with delivering the bags if there were more than a few and she appreciated the help.

Once Constance's delivery was the only one left, Elizabeth was able to go into the store and grab what she needed for her own kitchen. It was mostly canned food and a few frozen things – mac and cheese, pizza, simple things to fix, stuff that Michael could fix himself if he wanted.

She'd never really asked if he knew his way around the kitchen, cooking wise, but the way he acted she was fairly certain he probably only knew how to use the microwave.

That was okay. She would teach him.

* * *

Elizabeth should've known something was wrong the minute she reached Constance's door. It was ajar. Maybe someone had closed the door without waiting for it to latch. That was possible. But Constance was not that careless.

"Ms. Langdon?"

She had the bags in her hands – there weren't that many, since she got groceries for Constance once a week – and she pushed the door fully open with her foot.

"Mallory?"

When she'd called for both of them once more and didn't get a response, unease began to fill her mind and stomach. Constance had to be home. She never missed a Friday because that was delivery day.

She stepped inside, leaving the door open behind her, and walked the small walkway that led to the living room. It took a moment to take in what she saw there because what she saw was probably the most horrific thing she'd ever seen – and she'd seen quite a bit the last few weeks.

A medium-sounding thud filled the room as the bags in her hands hit the floor when she dropped them. She felt like she couldn't move. Her body was just frozen there, eyes staring at the sight before her.

The reason nobody had answered when she'd called out was because nobody could. Both Mallory and Constance were in the living room – Constance laid out on the couch, her feet on the floor as if she'd fallen backwards, and Mallory on the floor near the kitchen entrance. Both were dead. Constance's death appeared to have been a clean one, but Mallory's had not been. There weren't blood splatters everywhere, but there was a huge puddle of blood around her body.

Both had lost all color and had a grayish-blue quality to their skin – they had obviously been dead for a while.

She should leave, she should call the cops, do something. But she didn't know what to do. Michael was in the car waiting for her to come back out. If she didn't soon, he would come in. She didn't want him seeing this, but she knew he needed to – if she told him that his grandmother was dead, he would probably want proof anyway.

But Mallory . . . she didn't want him seeing that. All that blood and – seriously, what were they going to do with her? That question was the one that filled her mind the most. She thought that maybe that was a little cold, but she'd been raised that way – to see a problem and fix it, no matter what it's making you feel.

What she felt was a kind of horror at what had obviously happened, but it wasn't like she'd known Mallory very well or even liked her that much after finding out what she'd planned to do to Michael without ever giving him a chance first.

Not for the first time, her curiosity got the better of her. She moved closer to Mallory, mostly because she wanted to see how the woman had died, where the blood was coming from, but when she reached the body, she couldn't make sense of what she was seeing.

There was a hole in the middle of her chest. It didn't compute at first, but it was as if something had been pushed through her shirt into her skin and right through. The wound was too big to have been any type of bullet Elizabeth had ever heard of.

She'd knelt beside Mallory's body, careful of the blood, and it was only now that tears threatened to fall. She didn't understand what had happened.

* * *

Michael had been out in the car for a good ten minutes, just listening to the radio and waiting for Miss Elizabeth to come back out. She'd left the door open, so he hadn't thought she would take this long and he didn't really want to go in since she'd warned him against Mallory, but he was beginning to worry. She was usually in and out within a few minutes.

He turned the car off, left the keys in the ignition, and made his way up the pavement to the porch. He couldn't hear anything coming from inside the house. The silence filled him with unease, a type of unease he had never really felt until he'd met Miss Elizabeth.

He called out to her and the sound of rushed footsteps coming towards him made him feel both better and worse. She was okay, but something else obviously wasn't. Why hadn't she just said to come on in?

"Michael," she said as she rounded the corner of the walkway that led to the living room. "I –"

She had tears rolling down her cheeks. That was the first thing Michael noticed. He'd never seen her cry before and he didn't really know what to do. She's hadn't even cried the night she'd been attacked in his room, and she'd been terrified then.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"Michael, it's . . . something happened to your grandmother."

Michael hurried past her and to the living room. To be honest, he didn't even register Mallory's body at all at first. He just took in the groceries on the floor because he almost tripped over them, and then the body of his gramma on the couch.

He grabbed his chest as pain ripped through it. She was dead. He knew death, of course, but it had never been this close, never been someone he cared for. And he did care for her, despite what she'd done.

"Gramma?"

Michael didn't know how he got there, but he was kneeling on the floor in front of his gramma in seconds. He knew she was dead, knew he wouldn't get a response, but it didn't stop him from asking for one, for her to wake up, to please wake up!

"Michael!" Miss Elizabeth was calling to him, touching his shoulders. She was right behind him.

He moved so he could see her and ended up seated on the floor. He noticed that she still had tears falling down her face, but they weren't as bad as before.

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know, Michael. A heart attack, maybe. Someone killed Mallory, maybe Constance saw it and . . . Maybe her heart just gave out, Michael."

Gramma hadn't been killed, or there wasn't any evidence that she had been.

That was when he really took in the room, and Mallory had in fact been killed. There was blood all around her. Michael had to turn his head away. It reminded him of things Miss Elizabeth wouldn't approve of.

"What happened to _her_?"

"I don't that either, but there's a hole in her chest."

Michael rubbed his hands over his face and then ran his fingers through his hair, tugging more harshly than he needed to.

"What are we going to do with them?"

"We should call the cops, that's what we should do, but we can't. Mallory isn't even supposed to be here, and you've technically never been born. You weren't born in a hospital and you probably don't have a birth certificate, so no record of birth. And even if you did have one . . . you look about twelve years older than you should be. We can't bring any outsiders into this."

All of that went over Michael's head, and Miss Elizabeth seemed to be talking mostly to herself anyway, so he got up and made his way to Mallory's body. What had Miss Elizabeth meant when she'd said the girl wasn't supposed to be there? As far as he knew, Gramma had invited the girl to stay there.

He wondered if Gramma was dead now because of Mallory. Miss Elizabeth hadn't trusted her for a reason, so what if this was all the dead girl's fault? Someone had obviously wanted her dead, hence the wound in her chest, and what if that someone was still around? Were they in danger too? Was Miss Elizabeth?

What were they going to do now?

* * *

Elizabeth watched as something happened as Michael was looking at Mallory's body. At first there was anger coming from him – he was shaking with it – but then fear quickly joined it. She didn't understand either emotion he was feeling.

He'd wandered over to where Malloy lay when she'd been thinking out loud. Those problems had been in the back of her mind since she'd met Michael and had found out his backstory. Mallory was from another time period – if they called the cops, the cops would have to find out who she was and then all hell would break loose when they called her parents only to find Mallory alive and well wherever she was – and the one from this time probably didn't even know anything about what was going on.

And then there was the problem of Michael having no record of ever having been born. He would literally never be able to have a normal life because of that. He'd never be able to go to school or get a job – or nothing legal anyway. It was tragic, and none of it was his fault.

Michael's body stiffened and the atmosphere around him changed. She watched as his hands curled into fists, and then . . . flames erupted in front of him, on the floor where Mallory was. Elizabeth almost fell backwards as she took a step back and hit one of Constance's legs.

All of a sudden, she just felt like she couldn't handle anything else. So much had happened in too little time, and her usually logical and methodical brain just shut down on her. And Michael had . . . caused flames to just happen.

"Michael!" she'd meant to yell, get his attention, but her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

She really didn't know if it was okay to touch him, but she had to do something, so she made her way to him and touched his back, called his name again. She got his attention, but when he turned to her it was like he wasn't there. His eyes weren't focusing on her – they were empty of everything but sadness and rage. To be honest, it scared her – it was the first time he'd ever scared her.

"Michael, you have to stop! You don't wanna hurt me! I know you don't. But if you don't stop right now, you might."

She remembered that Michael had told her that when he did things it was like something else took over and when he came back, he would always see the damage he'd done without realizing how he'd done it.

Knowing she may have been making a serious mistake, she brought her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to focus on her.

"You come back to me, right now. Whatever's making you do this, you tell it to leave you alone! Wherever you are right now, I'm not there with you and I can't be. I'm right here, so you need to come back right now."

Michael's trembling became worse as life came back into his blue eyes. He fell to his knees, as if he'd lost all strength, which he may have if his abilities were connected to his own energy. The problem was that they were too close to the fire, because that was still going, and even though it was contained at the moment it would definitely spread.

"Miss Elizabeth?" His voice was weak and sounded frightened.

She'd gone down with him and was now bringing him closer. His head had fallen against her shoulder and she held him there for a few seconds. He was back.

"I'm right here. It's okay. I'm here."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've never –"

"It doesn't matter right now, Michael. I was able to pull you back, and we have to get out of here. We can talk about it at home."

"The fire."

Mallory's body had turned to ash, which shouldn't have been possible with normal fire – it wouldn't have been hot enough in that short amount of time.

"We have to leave it." It just came to her – it was the solution to their problem. Mallory was already a pile of ash, so when the police came – and they would because someone would notice the fire soon – they wouldn't be able to get anything out of her, hopefully. "The house . . . it'll . . . it'll make everything simpler if we just let the fire have the house."

"Gramma . . ."

She ran her fingers through his hair a few times, trying to bring comfort in this situation where comfort seemed far out of reach. She noticed that the skin was raised a little behind his right ear, right at the hairline. It felt as if he maybe had a rash or something, but she couldn't focus on that right now. She'd deal with it later.

"I'm sorry, Michael. It would be different if she could be saved, but . . . we got here too late."

She helped him stand and led him back towards the walkway that would lead them back outside. She got the groceries back in the bags as quickly as she could. The fire wasn't spreading too fast, and they couldn't leave a trace of them having been there.

It wouldn't help anyone if the police suddenly showed up at their door.


	9. Chapter 9

Okay, so . . . this chapter is a make or break type of deal. I love the story line, but I could be messing myself up by going this route!

Chapter Nine

Both Michael and Elizabeth were quiet on the way home and a while after arriving there. Michael sat slouched on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest as tears fell down his face. It was a much quieter grief than he'd shown when he'd first found his grandmother. Elizabeth was on the couch with him and she noticed when he glanced her way. She could tell he knew that he could've seriously hurt her that day without even meaning to.

It wasn't until they heard sirens that either of them thought to say anything. It was Michael, his voice flooded with emotion.

"I'm sorry." He wiped the tears away. "I'm so sorry."

"I know. I believe you."

"Are you going to make me leave?"

"No," she said quickly. "What made you think –"

"You saw me. The me that comes when . . . when I lose control. And I set that girl on fire. It could've been you."

They had been sitting on opposite ends of the couch, but she scooted towards him. She'd been waiting for him to come to her, but apparently that wasn't going to work.

"I scared you." It sounded to Elizabeth that he thought that was just as bad as if he'd hurt her. "You were scared of me."

"It wasn't you exactly. It was that you weren't there. I'd never seen you . . . go away before. And I definitely didn't know you could set things on fire. So . . . maybe I was a little scared, but I never felt threatened."

"The fire?"

"Okay, that definitely wasn't good and we'll need to find out what caused it, but –"

"I got angry. I kept thinking it was her fault Gramma is – that she's gone. You didn't trust her, so what if it was her fault? What if what happened to her happens to you? Whoever hurt her could still be around. And then you said that she wasn't even supposed to be there, and that's all I remember. Then I heard you, and I felt the fire."

"So . . . anger and fear cause you to lose control and go away."

He'd tried to tell her that when he'd first moved in, but she hadn't really understood until just then. His powers were connected to his emotions somehow – maybe they wouldn't be when he learned to control them, but . . . that was what was happening. Given that he had the emotional stability of a child . . . this could take some time to figure out.

She reached out to touch his hair, run her fingers through it, and he basically melted against her hand.

"Come here," she said and let him lean against her completely, his head resting on her shoulder now. "You still didn't hurt anyone, Michael. You didn't do that to them, so this isn't you fault. You didn't break my rules. Okay? I'm not making you leave."

"Okay." Michael tilted his head up to look at her. There was a very childlike fear in his eyes. "Miss Elizabeth? I really have nowhere else to go. I have no one but you now."

"I know, Michael. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Elizabeth wasn't sure how long exactly they stayed on the couch, but it was long enough for both her and Michael to drift off to sleep. Michael's body had fallen to where he could sleep with his head in her lap and she'd fallen asleep with her head leaned back against the couch. She definitely felt it when she woke up too. Her neck was probably going to bother her for the next couple of days.

It was around eight o'clock when she woke up. They still hadn't eaten dinner, but she didn't feel like cooking, so she decided to just pop one of the frozen pizzas into the oven. The problem was getting up. Michael was heavy on top of her. He'd somehow, in his sleep, been able to wrap an arm around her legs and he was basically hugging them like he would a pillow.

It was adorable, but she knew the reason he'd done it was because of the sense of loneliness he probably felt right now. He needed to feel that she was near.

"Michael . . ." She touched his hair, soothed her fingers over his scalp. Michael, however, was a heavy sleeper when he actually got to sleep, and waking him up gently was not really an option. "Michael, wake up."

"No," he muttered. "Tired."

She remembered then that he had had trouble sleeping the night before, so he probably would've been tired even if that day hadn't been so hard.

"We have to eat, sweetie."

"No," he said again. "Not hungry. Stay."

She couldn't even be mad at his stubbornness. This was the first time it had appeared, really, and it wasn't that big of an issue. This was normal behavior for a child – or for a man, really.

"You just don't wanna let go."

"Nope. Stay."

"All I'm gonna do is put a pizza in to heat up," she said. "You can come with me. I'll teach you how to use the oven."

Even then he grunted, but he did sit up and wipe the sleep out of his eyes. He followed her into the kitchen and she showed him how to adjust the temperature on the oven so she could preheat it. She let him pick the pizza, and he chose one with pepperoni. They sat at the table to wait for the oven to get done heating up.

"We can watch a movie while we eat, if you want," she suggested. All Michael did was nod. "You can pick it . . ."

"Okay."

But he didn't seem excited about it. Elizabeth knew why, of course she did, but . . . she missed it – he always got excited when she included him in things, when she let him make decisions. Now he was very subdued, as if he didn't care, as if he would do anything just because she told him to.

The only time he showed any interest in anything really was when she showed him her Harry Potter movie collection, though he didn't want to watch any of them yet because she hadn't finished reading to him. He said the same thing when she mentioned The Lord of the Rings. He didn't want to watch them until they read the books together.

She decided that she would pick then, and what she picked was The Princess Bride. Since he was technically a child, the romance aspect probably wouldn't mess with his male ego too much.

They ate the whole pizza – each had a half – while watching the movie and then Michael laid back down with his head on her lap. She thought he was going to go back to sleep, but he actually seemed to like the movie. She didn't let him know it was also a book; he might've wanted her to read it at some point, and it was not one of her favorites.

He began fidgeting a few moments after getting comfortable and when she looked at him to see what was wrong, she saw that his brow was furrowed.

"What?"

Instead of answering directly he looked up at her and then grabbed her hand to place it on his head. It made her laugh. He obviously wanted her to play with his hair and massage his scalp like she had earlier.

"You liked that, did you?"

He shrugged a little before nodding. "Made me feel better."

"I'm glad."

* * *

Michael continued laying on the couch throughout the rest of the movie. To be honest, he didn't even remember the name of it, but it was entertaining. Miss Elizabeth didn't play with his hair the whole time, but she kept her hand there on his head, which was just as good.

It wasn't something Michael was used to, though, and he hadn't known how to ask for it earlier. It wasn't like anyone had ever been so openly affectionate with him before. Sure, he'd had hugs and even a few kisses – mostly on the forehead – but those had been short and over within seconds. No one had ever just held him or touched him to bring comfort, not like Miss Elizabeth did. She could make his brain go silent, make him feel like nothing bad could touch him as long as she was there.

He knew that didn't make sense because bad things had been happening a lot lately, but she was always there after the bad things happened. He didn't feel as if she would leave just because of the bad things. And she never made him feel as if they were his fault even though he was probably responsible for at least one of the bad things that had happened recently.

That night they went through their normal routine of Miss Elizabeth reading to him. Michael appreciated it because it was something normal that they did, and it took his mind off of the things that had happened that day.

They were on the last chapter now. Michael wasn't sure that he liked the ending. Harry had to go back home to the Dursleys – though he did like that Harry said that he wasn't really going home, that the Dursleys weren't the people he considered as home. He understood that. He'd lived with his gramma as long as he'd been alive and he'd thought that she was it, that she was home, but it wasn't until he'd met Elizabeth that he knew what a home should feel like. Sometimes it wasn't a place. It was a person.

"He doesn't get stuck there, does he?"

"At the Dursleys?"

"Yeah. They hate him. They're afraid of him. Or maybe they hate him because they're afraid of him." Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, "And he doesn't have a Miss Elizabeth to take him in."

She smiled at him, soft and open, and then shook her head. "He doesn't get stuck there. There are six more books to get through, and he gets rescued over the summer, don't worry."

"Good."

Miss Elizabeth stood up from the bed and placed the book on the shelf she'd bought him. Apparently, she was going to leave the book there for him now.

It wasn't until she reached his doorway that he spoke up. His voice was soft and unsure when he did.

"I want you to stay."

She turned back to him. There was a hesitation in her eyes that Michael didn't understand, and it almost made him take his words back, but he really didn't want to be alone. Besides, the emotion was there and gone within seconds and she came to him without protesting.

* * *

Elizabeth stayed with Michael until he was good and asleep, much like she'd done the night they'd visited the Murder House. She'd had a split second of wondering if she should stay when Michael had asked her to, but the fact that he'd actually asked had trumped any doubt she might have had.

The truth was that she'd wondered if staying was a good idea only because she didn't want to make a habit of it. Michael had the mindset of a child, but he had the body of a teenage male and she didn't want him to get confused – especially after having watched a romantic movie earlier – about the roles in their relationship.

She'd realized very quickly, after looking at him, that she needn't have been worried. Michael, despite what he could do and had done, had an innocent way of looking at things. In fact, if his body were to start reacting the way a teenage boy normally did, it would probably frighten him – God forbid she have to have that conversation with him any time soon.

Michael had fallen asleep half on top of her with an arm around her middle, his hand fisted around the side of her shirt. She had to pry his fingers open before she could even try to get up. She considered it a miracle that she didn't wake him up with all the moving she had to do to get out from under him.

Once in her room, Elizabeth wasn't able to sleep right away. She'd held it together that day for Michael's sake, but she couldn't help but feel like crying now. What she'd seen that day had been horrible – even more horrible than the day she'd seen the body of the priest in Michael's room. At least that death had made sense – the poor man's throat had been slit. Mallory's death, though . . . that made no sense at all.

It was around three in the morning when Elizabeth woke up to the feeling that something was wrong. She hadn't been asleep too long and she felt a little groggy because of it. She immediately knew what was wrong, though.

Her bedroom door was open – she never left it open – and there was a cold draft coming through it. It took her a moment to realize that someone or something must've opened her door after she'd gone to sleep. Since she didn't feel anything evil lurking about, she figured it must've been Michael.

She got up to close her door, surprised with how cold her room was. She groaned when she realized the heater must not be working right. It wasn't so, so bad because the part of California she lived in usually didn't get below the forties at night, but still . . . She was cold.

She went to check Michael's room since it seemed to stay warm in there. Michael's door was wide open, which was weird because he kept his closed at night too – mostly because she closed it when she left. The room was not warm, but the window was open again.

Also . . . Michael was not in bed. Had he gotten up like he had the night before? She hoped that didn't become a habit with him. It probably wasn't healthy.

"Michael?" she called as she went down the hallway.

She stopped by the thermostat on her way and saw that it was set on seventy. The house shouldn't be so cold. When she reached the living room, she found that Michael wasn't there either. The front door was open, though, and there she was in her pajamas.

"Michael?"

Maybe he'd gone out on the porch – even though it was late at night – and just hadn't shut the door. But when she reached the door, she found that that wasn't the case. He was nowhere to be seen.

The first spark of panic gripped her. Where was he? She called for him again and received no answer, but she knew . . . she knew the only place he would go without telling her or without asking her to go with him.

The Murder House. With his grandmother now dead, the only connection he had to family was in the Murder House. Even though he'd found out his parents wanted nothing to do with him . . . Michael still might think to try again.

She'd said she would never go back in that house – something had terrified her the last time she'd been in there – but she couldn't leave him in there either.

Elizabeth didn't usually curse, but now she did. She let out a steady string of expletives as she went to put shoes and a jacket on. She also hoped she found him quickly so they could come back home.

* * *

Elizabeth basically marched up to the sidewalk in front of the Murder House and around to the back. She would go through the kitchen as she had the first time she'd been there. The door was open, so obviously someone had already broken in. It had to have been Michael – it just had to be. If it wasn't, then she could be in serious trouble.

"Michael?" she called out, but the house was huge. She wasn't surprised when she didn't get an answer. "Come on, don't make me look for you in this creepy house."

She stepped further into the house. The door closed behind her – she had not closed it herself – and she jumped. She may have even screamed a little, but she would deny it if ever asked about it. Almost as if it were a reflex, she tried to open the door again. It was not locked, just closed. So at least she wasn't trapped – she'd have broken a window to get out and wouldn't have even cared about getting trouble.

She moved from the kitchen to the living room. The house was warm; it reminded her of the temperature in Michael's room. She called for him again, she even called for Ben, but she didn't get an answer from either of them.

She guessed maybe Michael had gone upstairs and that was where she had to go even though she just wanted to go back home. Though to be honest, she didn't see any shadow figures like she had the last time and the air wasn't as oppressive; it was just warm.

It wasn't until she was halfway up the stairs that she felt something she'd never felt before. It was more a bad vibe than anything else – not the evil she'd felt in her house, not exactly anyway, because what she felt then wasn't threatening her. It was just there.

She was caught between wanting to follow where she was being led and just getting out of there. Despite being a little afraid, she was still curious, and to be fair, it was probably Michael she was being led to. If that was the case, she needed to follow it anyway so she could find him and they could leave.

The only light she had to see by came from outside – the streetlights mostly – so when she was led to the basement door she hesitated. The house didn't have electricity, so she would have no light down there, and she didn't have her cellphone with her. When she opened the door, however, she could see a faint glow coming from the basement.

Michael had to be down there then. Maybe he'd set fire to something, because that was what the glow looked like, the flickering of flames.

There was also a faint sort of whispering sound, the voice so low she couldn't make out any words. She called for him again, but the words never stopped and so she began making her way down the stairs.

It was slow going. She began to feel worse and worse the closer she got to the bottom of the stairs. She just knew something bad was going to happen, she could feel it.

"Michael, seriously, if you're down here, answer me!"

The voice stopped, causing the basement to become eerily silent. She was glad the light continued, and that was what she followed.

What it brought her to was a golden-haired, sun-kissed man. It was . . . it was Michael, only it wasn't at the same time. His hair was longer – a little longer than shoulder length – and he wasn't as lanky as . . . as he should've been.

He was kneeling on the floor in what looked like a pentagram – and was that blood? And he was completely naked. His body was facing her, so she had a view of everything. It wasn't something she'd ever wanted to see, ever wanted to have a picture of, not with him.

"What the hell?" she said. She hadn't meant to say it out loud, not really, but it was the only thing going through her mind.

The man on the floor hadn't moved or shown he knew she was there at all. Now, however, he looked up. What she saw made her want to scream more than anything else she'd seen so far. There where his beautiful ocean blue eyes should've been was nothing but an inky blackness

"Hello, Miss Elizabeth."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Hello, Miss Elizabeth."

His voice was low, all trace of childishness gone, and she hated it. He was using the name he'd always called her, but it was almost a mockery now. None of the respect he'd always shown her seemed to exist anymore, and she didn't understand why.

She also didn't understand Michael's appearance – and she wasn't talking about the nudity. He'd changed. The hair, the way he talked, and his eyes – why were they black? What had happened? Had he had another growth spurt? Was that why he'd snuck out of their house and come to this one? And what exactly was he doing with the pentagram?

Okay, so she knew what pentagrams were used for, but . . . still. Why was Michael sitting in the middle of one? And where was the blood coming from?

"Michael?" she whispered, though she hadn't meant to. She just couldn't find the air to speak louder.

He blinked and the darkness went away from his eyes leaving his normal blue behind, only . . . they weren't the same as they had been just the day before. There was a distance in them now, a coldness that she couldn't understand, and it was directed at her.

Then he stood, not seeming to care at all that he was naked, and stepped toward her.

"My name is Langdon, actually."

Langdon? Michael had decided to go by his last name, then.

She continued to back up until she reached the staircase leading back up to the first floor of the house. She should make a run for it.

"You'll never make it," he said. Then, "You caught me at a bad time."

"Hm."

She noticed that he moved gracefully, like a lion. And, also like a lion, his movements screamed predator. This must have happened after he'd gone to sleep, he'd woken up as . . . this. Her throat closed up on her as she realized she had failed to protect him, to help him. And to think just a few hours ago all he'd wanted was for her to cuddle with him and play with his hair.

He redirected his movements to a chair in the corner, which Elizabeth was relieved to see had his clothes folded on its seat. He was going to get dressed, apparently. She felt she should turn away from him, but it wasn't like she hadn't already seen everything.

"What happened to you? How are you –"

The man released a cruel laugh. "You think I'm your precious Michael?"

"Well . . . aren't you?"

Elizabeth didn't get an answer for over a minute. She almost thought he wasn't going to respond at all. It was only when he'd finished dressing – all in black, expensive looking clothes – that he turned to her and gave her a cruel, arrogant grin.

"I think you know who I am." He stepped toward her then, this time not stopping until he was in her personal space. "I think you know and are relieved that I'm not him."

Langdon wasn't Michael, and Michael wasn't Langdon. And it was a relief even if it did mean . . .

"Mallory."

"Yes." The grin was still in place. "You should have seen her face when she realized I was here."

"How are you here?"

"Powerful magic always leaves behind a sort of residue. Someone with powerful psychic abilities can always sense what spell was used. I was able to follow."

Elizabeth knew nothing about witchcraft, so none of what he said meant anything to her. All she knew was that Mallory and Constance were dead and she was pretty sure that this Langdon had something to do with it. And she was talking to him when she should be trying to leave.

"Mallory knew what was going to happen the second she saw me."

"And Constance . . ."

"I never touched her. The poor woman's heart gave out."

Why did he stay, though? He could've just left after killing Mallory and no one would ever have been the wiser as to who had done it.

"What do you want?"

Again with the pause, as if he might not answer, but again he did answer.

"Originally my grandmother killed herself. You couldn't possibly know this, but she did it because of me. It was my fault. I guess it's only fitting that she died because of me this time too."

"Oh. You didn't stop to think that maybe this time around you could've changed things? Maybe done something different to make it better?"

"No." He acted as if the thought had never even occurred to him – it probably hadn't. "I had a job to do. Mallory had to die."

Elizabeth remembered Mallory telling her what had happened – that Michael had lost someone he cared about very much and that that was why Michael had sworn vengeance against her.

"Did she also tell you that the person they took from me was the closest thing I ever had to a mother? She was what made me safe and happy and they stole that from me!"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

She was still thinking she needed to get out of the basement, although now it was because she just wanted to find her Michael and get them out of there. She didn't want him seeing this other version of him. It would not end well.

"Are you going to leave now that Mallory is dead? That is what you wanted, right?"

"That was what I wanted, especially after I saw her try to run me – well, him – over. But then, there you were, right on time. It was almost as if I wasn't supposed to die."

"I was just – I jog most every day. I did what –"

"What anybody would have?" Again with the grin. "I don't believe you are that naïve . . . Miss Elizabeth."

If she'd thought about it, she probably would've slapped him in the face for that. He wasn't allowed to call her that – it wasn't his name to call her – and especially not in that tone of voice.

He gave a hollow laugh – so empty, as if he didn't know how to really laugh – and she suddenly knew that he was laughing at her thoughts. Mallory had warned her that this Michael, the one from her time period could read thoughts. That was just great. He'd probably pictured her slapping him in the face, and yet . . . he seemed amused, not enraged.

"I think it would take more than silly words for you to want to really hurt me."

"Has . . . has he seen you?"

"No. Honestly, I didn't know if it would hurt me if he saw me, so I didn't want to risk it. It could drive him insane."

"More insane than trying to commune with the devil, you mean?" She gestured to the symbol on the floor. "And, seriously, is that blood?"

It was a little dry so it looked more like rust than anything else, but . . .

"It's my blood. A sacrifice has to be made in order to open the door."

"Naturally. You never did say if you were leaving."

She obviously couldn't do anything to him, couldn't make him leave, so he'd have to decide to leave on his own.

"I think I'll stay. You have intrigued me."

"Does . . . why?"

"Because instead of calling the police you decided to let the house burn." He leaned even more into her space. "Why?"

She didn't even have to think about it, she already knew the answer.

"Because the police would've complicated things and it was easier just to let it burn."

A satisfied smile filled Langdon's face.

"Exactly. And that is what is intriguing. I wonder how many other things you're going to do for Michael just because it makes it easier."

He turned from her then, dismissing her. And as if that weren't enough, he said, "You can go."

His complete brushing off of her made her hackles rise with a thing that was dangerously close to wrath. Who was he to dismiss her that way? He didn't even know her, really. He wasn't acting as if his memories were any different since she'd come into Michael's life – he was still caught up on this other woman, this other mother figure he apparently had. Did that mean that Michael was still going to meet her at some point? Did it mean that Elizabeth would actually fail at changing anything at all?

"Take your busy brain somewhere else." He turned back to her, vague annoyance in his eyes. "If I'm correct, I'm – well, he – is about to meet his 'dad' and it is not going to go well. He will . . . need you."

"But . . . last time he was here his dad wouldn't even show himself."

"I know." A brief play of sadness filled Langdon's face. Elizabeth wasn't even sure it was a real emotion because it was there and then gone. "He's upstairs in one of the bedrooms."

Elizabeth began to go upstairs, now having the information she wanted, but she didn't make it half way up before turning back around.

"I really am sorry for what they did to you. I'm sure I don't have the whole story, but I'm sorry anyway. And thank you for telling me where – where I can find Michael."

Langdon had turned from her almost as soon as she'd begun going up the steps. She didn't know what he was doing, but he was messing with the symbol on the floor again. He'd frozen when she'd spoken to him, so she knew he was listening. It didn't matter that he didn't acknowledge it any way else.

There was nothing else that she could do or that needed to be done at that moment. Langdon was letting her leave, so she was going to leave. She had to go find her boy.

* * *

It didn't take Elizabeth long to find Michael. More than one voice was coming from upstairs, so that was where she went. Ben, Michael, and another guy – one she didn't know – were in one of the bedrooms. If Langdon was to be trusted, then this guy was Tate Langdon. He was Michael's dad, and he wanted nothing to do with Michael.

All Elizabeth knew at this point was that Ben was holding Tate back, and Michael was on the bed looking a little scared and a lot sad. Tate was yelling at him, basically disowning him – not that he'd ever claimed Michael as his at all in the first place.

"Not even I can create something as monstrous, as evil, as you!" Tate screamed.

"Hey!" she screamed from the doorway. "What is going on?"

Ben and Tate looked at her first, and then she heard as Michael said, "Miss Elizabeth!"

She could have cried, the relief was so intense. There it was, that childlike voice calling her name, respectful and warm, and needing her, not like Langdon at all. She went around the other two men and went to the bed to sit beside Michael.

"He was just exploring," Ben said, while Tate went with, "He was going through my stuff."

"So? It's not like you need it. You're dead."

Elizabeth didn't even care about how rude that sounded, not after hearing what he'd said about Michael. She did take in Tate's appearance, though, and she could see a certain resemblance – the hair mostly – between Michael and Tate.

Eventually Tate just left the room, telling them both to stay away from him. Elizabeth had no problem with that. She didn't even want to be there, not really.

"Michael, why'd you come here? I thought we agreed to stay away from this house."

"I didn't – I don't remember coming here. I just . . . I remember going to sleep in your house and then I woke up in this house, downstairs in the living room."

"You were sleepwalking."

"He did look like he was in a trance," Ben said. "Then he came up here."

"Okay."

Elizabeth noticed that the drawer of the bedside table was open and so she looked inside. There was a latex suit inside. She assumed that it belonged to Tate since he'd been complaining about Michael going through his things.

"Tate doesn't look much older than Michael does," she said, directing the comment at Ben.

"He died when he was a teenager."

"Oh." Then to Michael, "Are you ready to go home?"

Michael nodded but then said, "I was just curious. I didn't mean to make anyone mad."

"I know. Some people are just jerks."

She grabbed Michael's hand and she was relieved that he was okay with just leaving. She was so ready to go home.

* * *

Michael and Elizabeth wasted no more time leaving the Murder House. He really hadn't meant to go there – he'd obviously been sleepwalking like Miss Elizabeth had said. He hoped it didn't cause more problems for them – well, for her. He hadn't really been bothered the last time.

They passed by what was left of his old house, Miss Elizabeth looking at the blackened ruins. She seemed unusually distracted. He immediately thought it was because she'd never wanted to go back in the Murder House, and she'd had to because of him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She stopped walking and pointed at the house. "That fire . . . I feel like I need to clear something up. If either of them had been alive, I wouldn't have just let it burn. You know that, right? Or at least not without getting them out first."

"I know. You would've tried to help. That's what you do. Help people."

"Right. I just didn't want you to think – I mean, I'm supposed to be showing you the right way to do things, and that wasn't a very right thing to do, not legally –"

"Thank you," he interrupted. "I know you wouldn't have done it if it weren't for me. If things were normal, you would've done it differently."

She nodded. "Yeah, I would have."

They started walking again. Michael could sense that something was wrong, that something was definitely preoccupying Miss Elizabeth's mind, but if she didn't want to talk about it then he wasn't going to make her.

Once they were in her house Elizabeth basically just plopped down on the sofa. It was then that he noticed that much like himself Miss Elizabeth was still in her pajamas. She had a jacket on and her running shoes, but she obviously hadn't changed before coming to find him.

"I didn't mean to worry you."

"It's okay. I mean, it's not okay, but it's not your fault either, not if you were sleepwalking."

She patted the spot beside her and he sat down. She was looking at him in a weird way, with a sort of sadness.

"I just need to say something. I don't know what happened before I got there, but what Tate said . . . it's not true. I mean, you've done bad things – you know that even if you don't understand why they're bad – but you're trying not to do them. Evil people don't care if they do evil, okay? Evil people don't want to be good, they enjoy doing evil. From what you've said, you don't even know you're doing it – like what you did with Mallory's body earlier . . . with the fire."

Throughout her speech, Michael noticed that her eyes had become misted over. He didn't know what was making her cry, but he knew he wanted it to stop. Her being upset made him upset, and he wasn't used to comforting people; he was usually the one being comforted.

"All I'm saying is . . . don't listen to him. He doesn't know you."

"Okay." He placed a hand on her shoulder, gently because he didn't know if his touch would be accepted in her upset state. Then he said, "I want to help you feel better, but I don't know what to do."

Was he supposed to pull her to him like she did when he was upset? Was that okay? She was older than him, was he even supposed to comfort her?

He was surprised when she leaned her forehead against his shoulder.

"Oh, Michael, don't ever change. Obviously, you have to grow up some time, but don't change."

That was such a weird thing to say, and he didn't understand the weight behind her words, but he knew that if he agreed it would help rid her of whatever was bothering her at the moment.

So that was what he did.

* * *

Elizabeth stayed with Michael for the rest of the night – for the rest of the time they slept. She was upset and he was probably upset, plus she wanted to make sure he didn't get up and leave again. She now more than ever didn't want him going back to the Murder House. Ben seemed okay, but Tate obviously hated Michael, and his mother still hadn't made an appearance

And then there was Langdon. She still didn't want Michael to see him, which Langdon had seemed okay with because he hadn't wanted Michael to see him either. He didn't know what would happen if they saw each other.

Michael went to sleep more quickly than Elizabeth did. She had more on her mind. Actually, she had one person on her mind, and that was Langdon, but he was definitely filling her headspace.

She didn't really understand his presence there. Yes, she knew he'd killed Mallory, that had been his goal, but . . . she didn't understand why he'd made himself known to her.

Elizabeth didn't know much about time travel – only what she'd learned from movies and books, which wasn't much – but she did know that you couldn't change one thing without changing everything else. Only, what she was doing with Michael didn't seem to change Langdon at all, if his cold indifference was anything to go by.

So maybe he was telling the truth about him not being Michael, and Michael not being him. But that would imply that Langdon wasn't really from the future – not her future anyway. It would mean that he was from another time line altogether. It may have been similar – he had known that Michael was going to meet Tate. Or it could just mean that because Michael had met her instead of that other woman that had taken care of Langdon that Michael could go down a different path.

Whatever it meant . . . she was not going to let her Michael turn into whoever Langdon was. She was never going to have to look into dark eyes instead of blue, and she for sure was going to try to keep him from thinking he had to do some weird ritual to get in touch with the devil.

Those were her thoughts as she drifted off into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Okay, so chapter ten was a doozy. I didn't realize how hard Langdon was going to be to write, because I feel he still has the same feelings as Michael but he doesn't want them anymore, like he feels they're a weakness, so I'm kind of nervous about how his and Elizabeth's first meeting went. What do you guys feel about it?


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

When Michael woke up the next morning it took him a moment to get oriented. Miss Elizabeth was in bed with him, still sleeping next to him. That had never happened before. Even if she was there when he went to sleep, she was never there when he woke up. She would leave after he fell asleep.

Usually she was up and making breakfast before he even woke up. The smell of her cooking was usually what woke him up in the first place. The fact that she was still deeply asleep just proved that what had happened the day before had worn her out. It was mostly his fault. She wouldn't have had to wake up in the middle of the night if he hadn't walked right out of the house and into the night.

Michael didn't get up right away. He thought about everything that had happened – his gramma, the fire, sleepwalking, his dad – and fought against the sadness in his chest. His gramma was gone forever as was the home he'd grown up in – or whatever it was he'd done, considering he'd grown up overnight. Gramma hadn't been like Elizabeth, and it confused him to think that he maybe preferred Elizabeth, but he hadn't wished her dead either. Whatever it was that had caused him to choke her in the middle of the night – the same thing that had caused the fire - had wished her harm, but he – Michael – had never wanted to hurt her.

They were two separate entities – himself and the thing inside him. He knew that now. Just from listening to what Elizabeth said, to how she explained it, Michael knew that what he wanted and what it wanted were two very different things.

He was lucky that whatever it was hadn't hurt Miss Elizabeth the night before because he hadn't been in control of anything. He hadn't been lying when he'd said that he'd fallen asleep in his room only to wake up in the living room of the Murder House. He didn't remember getting up or leaving the house or walking to the other one. Once he had become aware of where he was, he just started looking around. He'd been born there and Gramma had lived there at some point, and his parents had as well, so he had been curious.

He hadn't known the room he'd picked to go through had once belonged to his dad. Should he even call him that anymore? Tate obviously wanted nothing to do with him. He didn't know why his dad hated him so much. Michael had never done anything to him. He was glad Elizabeth had gotten to him when she had – she was always there.

He hadn't known her for very long, he knew that, but he felt better with her than he ever had with Gramma. He felt almost disloyal thinking that, but he didn't know what else to think because it was true. Besides, it was nice knowing she actually wanted him there, that he wasn't some problem she had to deal with. She even went out of her way to make sure he was okay and comfortable and happy. She made it clear that he could come to her with things, be open with her without fear of rejection or judgment. She accepted him.

Michael took a deep breath. A small but genuine smile pulled at his lips. Not everything was good at the moment, but he had someone who cared about him, truly cared about him, maybe for the first time in his life, and it made him realize that he didn't have to let the sadness take over. He'd been learning how to make the voices in his head take a backseat to Miss Elizabeth's voice. It wasn't hard to do because he knew she cared about him, and he cared about her too. He wanted her safe and happy as much as she seemed to want him safe and happy

Michael continued to lie there until his bladder decided it was time for him to get up. Elizabeth was stirring by that time, but her eyes remained closed. She would soon be awake, though, so Michael decided he would make breakfast that morning. He couldn't do much more than toast, cereal, and fruit, but it was still breakfast.

* * *

When Elizabeth walked into the kitchen to find that Michael was in the middle of cutting up some fruit for a fruit salad she stopped in the doorway and just watched for a few seconds. He was still in his pajamas – so was she, actually – and he was so focused on his job that he didn't look up as she came in.

He seemed able to use the knife efficiently and hadn't hurt himself at all, so she let him continue.

"Good morning, or afternoon . . . whatever."

She continued over to the counter, where Michael was cutting up the fruit – strawberries, bananas, kiwi; grapes and blueberries were to the side since they didn't have to be cut – and leaned against it.

"Look at you, becoming a master chef," she teased.

Michael's movements faltered for just a few seconds as he ducked his head. His mouth scrunched up as if he were trying to hide a smile and his cheeks reddened as blood rushed to his face.

"I woke up before you did," he said. "You always make breakfast." He looked up then, eyes seeking approval. "It's okay, right?"

He was doing something nice for her, so of course it was okay. The fact that he had to ask, though, was just further proof that he hadn't had any normal type of upbringing.

"I think it's great, Michael. It's going to be delicious."

He didn't try to hide his smile this time. That was good. His smile was bright when he meant it – it was a reminder that he wasn't the same person as the man she'd met the night before, because she definitely hadn't forgotten Langdon at all.

She touched his back, rubbed back and forth a few times, and then went to the fridge to get the milk carton. She poured both of them a glass each and put the milk back.

"Thank you for doing this," she said. "I don't usually sleep so late, but . . . last night was a weird night."

Michael agreed. "We have a lot of those."

"Yeah. We do. But it's okay."

* * *

After breakfast, Elizabeth left Michael on the couch to play a video game while she went for her jog. The fruit salad had been great, something light, so she hadn't had to wait long for it to settle. She had to work again that day, another four-hour shift, and she knew Michael would want to go with her. It wasn't just because he didn't want to leave her side for long, though that was the main thing, but he also enjoyed getting out of the house. Though to be fair, she didn't know if he'd want to go anywhere if she wasn't with him.

She spent most of her jog thinking about ways she could slowly get Michael used to socialization – if not him actually participating in it, him being out in it. He'd enjoyed going to the batting cage the day before, so maybe sports related things would help. She'd also never really taken him out to eat at an actual restaurant, so that was something she could try as well.

There were other things she needed to do, too, like start teaching him things. Michael had mentioned that Constance had always been on him about his grammar, so she'd obviously tried teaching him some things. Elizabeth just wasn't sure how far he was in his education. She'd never really thought about it until just then.

As she was returning from her jog, the same way she always had, she noticed a car parked in front of the Murder House, two women standing outside of it. It made her pause for a second, because she didn't know who they were. She didn't want to be that nosy neighbor person, but she also wanted to make sure they didn't go in the house.

"Hey, you guys aren't thinking of moving in there, are you?" she called out, and they turned to her.

Both of them had dark hair. Their faces were open even though what Elizabeth had done could've been considered rude by some.

"We're waiting for a realtor, actually, so we can go in."

"Oh. Did the realtor tell you the history of the house?"

"You mean that everyone who buys the house dies? We've heard the stories. But that's all they are, right?"

"Not so much. I don't know the whole history of the house, but I know at least three of the stories are true. You should really do some research before you say yes."

The women didn't look much older than Elizabeth was, but this couldn't be a starter house for them – who would buy such a big house for just two people? Maybe they had other people coming? They'd just been sent to check the house out. Whatever. They couldn't buy the house. Even if Langdon hadn't been using it as a place to stay, there were other dangers inside.

She knew there was nothing else she could do about the situation so she continued on with her jog, praying to whoever or whatever was listening that they would listen to her.

* * *

That night, Michael agreed to watch the first Harry Potter movie since they had finished the book. They had picked up burgers and fries on the way home from Miss Elizabeth's work, so she didn't have to cook. They went straight to watching the movie.

Michael enjoyed it even though they took out one of his favorite characters – Peeves the poltergeist, he was always causing trouble – and some of his favorite parts.

They were done eating long before the movie was over, but once it was Michael was able to convince Miss Elizabeth to play a round of Mario Kart with him. He'd never seen her become so frustrated with anything before. She'd told him before that she wasn't great at video games. She hadn't been lying. She was actually terrible at them. It made him laugh harder than he remembered ever laughing.

"That's okay, Miss Elizabeth. You can't be good at everything."

"I would be okay, if I could just stay on the track," she said. "And maybe learn how to drift properly."

After the round was over, Michael taught her how to put the safety on her car so that she wouldn't fall off the track. It helped only a little. She still didn't know how to drift, but she was able to come in fifth now instead of close to last place.

"Okay, that wasn't too bad," she admitted. "Thank goodness I'm a better driver in real life."

* * *

That night, around eight, Elizabeth got a call from her mom – her mom was pretty much the only one that called her. Her dad wasn't the best at communicating with her or her sister, and her sister was angry that she'd moved away, so they weren't speaking at the moment.

To be honest, her mother had never communicated much with her before she'd moved, so to have her calling once in a while was new, even if it was to just check in with her for three minutes.

After the normal "I hate that you moved an hour away and that you're alone," stuff her mom always gave her, her mom said, "Do you at least like it there?"

"Uh . . . I guess. It's definitely interesting. I never have a chance to be bored, at least."

Her mother, the doctor, said, "I hope you're not doing too much, running around doing whatever it is you do."

"I deliver groceries to people, Mom. It's not hard. I promise. It's mostly for people who can't do it themselves or are rich enough not to have to."

"Still, you always have taken on more than you should."

Her mom was probably referring to the fact that she'd practically helped raise Tara, her sister, from the moment she was actually able to help take care of her. Once Elizabeth had been at a responsible enough age, both her mom and her dad had thought that meant they could leave her and Tara alone for longer periods of time.

She did not, however, say any of this.

"So . . . Thanksgiving is next week," her mother said.

"Okay . . ."

Her family had never really celebrated anything. Not Thanksgiving, not Christmas, not Easter. They'd always treated it like any other day. No big dinners, no family get togethers. Elizabeth didn't understand why her mother was bringing it up.

"Do you have plans?"

"Not especially. I'll probably just stay home."

"Or you could come visit."

"Why would I do that? It's an hour away, and you and dad are probably not going to be home anyway."

"Tara misses you."

"Tara won't even talk to me."

"Maybe she could come stay with you over her break – or for Christmas."

"I can't. I . . . I have a roommate now, and I don't have any place for her."

She felt terrible for saying that because the guest room had actually originally been intended for her sister's use if she were to visit, but now that the room belonged to Michael, she couldn't just let her sister come and take it from him, no matter how short a period a time it would be for.

Plus, all the weird things that had been happening to her and to Michael – she didn't want her sister around that.

"The thing is –"

"Here we go," she muttered.

"The thing is," her mother said firmly, "that your father and I would like to take a vacation around Christmas time."

"And you don't want to take her with you," Elizabeth seethed. "You do realize that you're her mother, not me. You should be responsible for her."

She had never had a problem with taking care of her sister – she'd even enjoyed it sometimes – but the fact was that she had moved because her sister was old enough to take care of herself now, and Elizabeth wanted to go to a school near where she was now living. Even if she hadn't actually moved into a house, the school was far enough away from her parents' house that she wouldn't have been able to stay there anyway.

Her mother went on about how Tara would love to visit her, and couldn't Elizabeth just share a bed with her sister, or even let Tara sleep on the couch. They did not end on a happy note with each other.

Elizabeth was pretty sure she wouldn't be hearing from her mom for a while.

* * *

Michael didn't know if he liked Elizabeth's mother. Every time her mother called, Miss Elizabeth became sad and serious, and it took her a while to smile again. That night she'd even looked a little angry – but it was a righteous type of anger. All he knew was that it involved Tara, Miss Elizabeth's sister. He didn't know much about Tara, just that she was a few years younger than Elizabeth. Well, he knew what she looked like because of the pictures Miss Elizabeth had on the walls, but they'd never really talked about her.

So, of course that was what they did that night, because that was when they always seemed to have discussions. He was the one to bring up Tara, mostly because of what he'd heard about there not being room for her because he was there. He was glad that Miss Elizabeth seemed intent on keeping him there even though her sister wanted to come visit, but . . . Tara was her sister. She was family. He would understand if she needed the room back for a while.

When he explained that, Miss Elizabeth told him about the trip her parents wanted to take and they just wanted to drop Tara off on her like they'd always done.

"Besides . . . I don't know if it's safe here, what with everything that's been going on."

That much was true, and Michael wasn't only thinking about himself. They still didn't know whether that thing – whatever it had been – was gone for good.

"Mom mentioned Thanksgiving next week. Did you and Constance ever do anything to celebrate?"

"She would cook a lot of food. Enough to have leftovers for days." He'd always gotten the feeling that she only did it because she thought it was expected of her, not because she was actually commemorating anything. He'd still enjoyed all the food.

"My family never celebrated it, but I can maybe make us a little something that day."

"Okay."

Miss Elizabeth didn't stay with him that night. Neither of them was upset. Michael just hoped that he wouldn't sleepwalk again.

* * *

Because Elizabeth had gotten up late that day, she didn't go to bed right away. She actually did a little bit of cleaning, mostly dusting. She couldn't believe that she'd gone so long without giving her house a good cleaning, but she understood why. She'd been busy with other things.

After about an hour of cleaning, she relaxed on the couch and began aimlessly flipping through the channels. She settled on an old movie she'd loved growing up called The Goonies. Cleaning must have tired her out, though, because it didn't take her long to doze off right there.

When she woke up, she didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but she did know what woke her up. A shuffling noise was coming from the kitchen. It lasted for a moment or two and then it stopped. It started a short time later. There was a pattern to it that was familiar. It was just like the knocking on her door that one night. It happened three times, stopped, and then three more. Over and over. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Stop. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Stop.

She was almost scared to get up. If it was the same thing, it had tried to hurt her last time.

The shuffling changed quickly to banging, though there was no pattern to that, and she knew what it was instantly. The cabinets were being opened and slammed shut. It was almost like whatever this was was calling her out, challenging her specifically – like it had done last time. She really had no choice, not if she wanted it gone. She had to face it.

She got up and went to the kitchen, and sure enough the cabinets were being opened and closed. She could feel the evil – only in the kitchen, though, because it hadn't been in the living room with her.

"This is still my house," she said. That was her main thought, much like it had been the last time. "You're still not welcome here if you're going to do stuff like this."

A plate launched itself out of one of the cabinets and shattered on the floor. Another one came out right after, only this one came straight at her head. If she hadn't ducked, it would have hit her. It hit the wall instead, exploding behind her.

This thing was angry at her for having won last time, and it didn't seem to be willing to give up as easily now.

The lights began flickering like they had the first time she'd faced this thing. That didn't even faze her. It was just the lights. The fact that this thing had actually thrown something at her head was what bothered her the most. It only did it once, but it was still making things come out of the cabinets.

In the biggest show of power yet, every plate and bowl she had seemed to come out of their respective place only to fall to the floor and shatter. She knew that whatever it was wanted to scare her, but it was just making her angry. This was her stuff, her belongings, and it was destroying them.

"What's happening?" That was Michael, of course. He'd obviously been woken up because of the noise and was now coming down the hallway.

And just like that everything stopped. It was as if nothing had ever happened – if not for the damage done, Elizabeth would've thought maybe she'd imagined it. It was completely quiet. She could tell they were not alone, though, because she could still feel the presence of whatever it had been. The lights were staying on, all the cabinets were closed, but the air was still oppressive.

Michael stopped at the doorway of the kitchen and his eyes widened when he took in the mess. His eyes snapped to her and she realized he was checking her over, making sure she hadn't been hurt. It almost made her want to cry because she knew that she was a priority to him.

It was at that particular moment a growling noise filled the room. If ever asked, Elizabeth would swear up and down that whatever this was didn't like that Michael cared about her at all, and it was realizing just how much he'd come to depend on her. A shadow even began to appear on the wall opposite them. All Elizabeth could see were horns and wings – they were almost bat-like.

That was when she began to feel real fear. This thing . . . there was nothing human about it . . . and she could tell that she had been wrong. It had never been about her, had never really been after her. It was after Michael. It had only been tormenting her because she was standing in the way. Michael had never had anybody to help him keep the darkness at bay before, but she was doing that for him, and so she was a threat to whatever this was that wanted him.

Was it a demon? Was it the devil? She didn't know, but there was definitely something spiritual and supernatural going on. It didn't change anything, though, because Michael was still Michael, and she was still going to help him.

The shadow moved – Elizabeth noticed that Michael wasn't looking at it, so she assumed he couldn't see it – and took flight. It came right at her and hit her as a mass of hot, fetid air. It was so strong that it knocked her back into the wall – she was grateful it was there, because if it hadn't been, she would've fallen to the ground.

"What's that smell?" Michael asked.

He hadn't come to her, but he looked like he wanted to – all the broken glass was keeping him from her. Michael was right, though. That thing had left behind a terrible smell – rotten eggs, or sulfur - and she was drenched in it because it had gone through her. She was surprised she didn't have any lingering effects from that – though she did have a headache now, but that could just be from being knocked into the wall.

"Michael, I need you to just stay right there, okay? I don't want you to get hurt."

He was still barefoot from getting up from bed, but she still had her shoes on from earlier. She didn't want him cutting himself. She ended up sweeping the entranceway clean so he could at least get in and to the table. But that was as far as she got because everything hit her then – what had happened and how she felt about it, mostly anger but a little bit of fear as well – and she basically collapsed onto her behind on the floor. She had angry tears filling her eyes.

"Miss Elizabeth?" He was kneeling beside her.

"I just cleaned!" she exclaimed. "It's like it waited to do this. I just cleaned, and everything is a mess again! And all my dishes are smashed!"

She hadn't meant to yell. She really hadn't. And she regretted it instantly because it made Michael flinch as if she'd scared him. Tears filled his eyes as well, and she knew he was probably thinking that she was angry at him because he was who she'd directed the words at.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not – it's not your fault," she said. She took a deep breath to calm down before speaking again. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm sorry. I just . . . I did just clean. That's what I was doing before I fell asleep on the couch."

Cautiously, almost timidly even, he said, "Y-you never raise your voice."

"I try not to. Yelling doesn't help anything, not really. Some people say it's a release, but I just feel bad for scaring you."

"I don't like loud noises, especially if I'm not expecting it."

She rubbed her face with her hands and allowed Michael to help her up. She took in the mess underneath the cabinets and shook her head.

"I don't even feel like doing this right now. It can wait."

She was just about to put the broom to rest against the wall when she felt Michael's hand on her back. She looked at him and she saw a small grin on his face.

"Let me help."

"We should just go to bed. The mess will be there in the morning."

He shook his head and then gestured to the floor. She humored him and looked. Within seconds, all the shattered pieces were floating in the air, stacked as they had been on the floor. She understood what was happening almost right away. He was using his powers. All he had to do was get the pieces to the trashcan, which he did. The lid opened on its own and then that was that. The mess was cleaned up off the floor, ready to be taken out when the trash truck next ran.

A smile broke out on her face. She would still have to sweep across the floor to make sure there weren't any slivers of plate left over, but the mess was gone!

"Okay, that was so much better than having to pick all that up on my own!" She hugged him quickly, noticing that he seemed to be happy too. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

A big weight seemed to have lifted and she knew it had everything to do with her mood change. The air, the atmosphere itself had lightened.

She ran the broom over the floor just to be safe, but then she put the broom back and again relaxed in front of the TV for a bit, only this time Michael watched it with her. They only stayed up long enough for the adrenaline from the encounter in the kitchen to fade and then they both went to bed, each in their own room.

There were no more disturbances that night.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Over the next few days, Elizabeth went about demon-proofing her house, which mostly meant that she took more precautions than she normally did. The day after the thing had ransacked her kitchen, she'd gone to the store to buy more plates and bowls. She went specifically for the ones made from paper. If they were thrown at her head, they wouldn't hurt if she didn't have time to duck.

She even went so far as to buy plastic knives, forks, and spoons. She was not going to take the chance of letting that thing – whatever it was – get hold of a sharp object just so it could throw it at her.

While at the store, she also bought a Bible. She almost bypassed it, but then she thought about it. Everything that was happening had a demonic taint to it; the Bible might be useful even if she hadn't been brought up to believe in it. The problem was that Michael was with her when she stopped to look at the Bible and he didn't seem to like that she was considering buying one.

"What do you need that for?" His tone was almost suspicious, and he was almost glaring at the book. "I don't like it."

"Well, it's not for you," she said. "It's for me and that . . . thing."

"You're not going to read it to me?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"Okay. Because you know what happened the last time someone read that thing to me. It burned my ears."

She wasn't sure it had actually burned his ears or if he'd just thought it had because he'd grown to believe he was a bad person, but she did understand his fear and hesitancy about the book she was considering buying. He thought it would do him harm, so naturally he feared it.

"Michael, have I ever done anything to hurt you?"

"No," he answered quickly.

"So, would I read this to you? Since you think it hurts you?"

He looked down, appearing almost ashamed that he'd been suspicious of her in the first place, and then again said no.

"Good answer," she said.

The truth was that if she hadn't seen the shadow figure – the one with horns and wings – she never would've thought twice about the Bible or anything to do with it, but she had seen it. She'd woken up thinking about God and the Devil . . . and the anti-Christ. What if she was the only thing standing between Michael and him becoming the anti-Christ? She already knew she was the only thing standing between Michael and whatever that thing was.

She couldn't actually believe that she was thinking that what Mallory had told her was true about Michael being the anti-Christ, but she was starting to think it could be true. Most of that had to do with meeting Langdon; she could believe he'd done what Mallory had said he had done. He'd killed Mallory and had indirectly been responsible for Constance's death as well, and he hadn't seemed remorseful at all. He'd had his reasons, Elizabeth knew, but still . . . to hurt someone and be so unapologetic about it . . . She didn't understand.

Back at the house, once everything was put away, Elizabeth put on her jogging clothes so she could go for her routine jog – or so Michael would think she was going for a routine jog anyway. She hated lying to him – or letting him assume something that was wrong – but she needed to go back to the Murder House and she didn't want him going with her. She didn't think being in a place like that was good for either of them, but she had to talk to Langdon.

He'd been willing to help last time, even if it had been just to get her to leave him alone. Maybe she could get him to help this time too. And that was how she found herself sneaking through the back door of the Murder House in broad daylight. She was careful about it, but still . . . she'd never done anything like that before, not when she could easily have been caught.

Once inside, she realized that the feeling the house gave off wasn't so bad during the day. It was like even though she knew the spirits weren't at rest even in the day time, she thought they wouldn't be as active. That was probably a false sense of security, but she'd take what she could get.

She vaguely wondered what had happened to the two women from the day before, but that wasn't her main concern at the moment, so she let those thoughts go and made her way to the basement stairs.

"Langdon? Are you down there?" Then as an afterthought, "And fully clothed this time?"

She didn't get a response, and there wasn't any creepy chanting type of noise coming from the basement. Maybe he wasn't down there. Maybe he wasn't there at all. He could've changed his mind about staying. She hoped that wasn't true, if only for the fact that he could be a big help, if he so chose to help.

She slowly made her way down into the main part of the basement, a rotten type of smell hitting her nose the further she went. What was that? It smelled like something had died.

"Langdon?"

What if it had been him? What if he'd done one of those insane rituals and bled himself the wrong way and had slowly died from it? There was no longer a symbol on the floor of the basement, so if he had shed blood . . . it hadn't been in the basement, so what was that smell?

She didn't have to worry for long. The smell wasn't coming from a human body. It was coming from a pile of dead animals stacked up in the corner of the room. She covered her mouth as she took it in. It was mostly rats, but there were a few squirrels and at least one cat in there. The cat appeared to have been gutted and she could tell it had been hollowed out.

Something – or someone – had been harvesting these things for food and she had a sinking suspicion that it was Langdon. It was disgusting and horrifying, and where was he?

Not in the basement, that was for sure, so she went back upstairs – ran back up, more like – and back into the kitchen. She stopped short because there he was. She almost fell over her own two feet because she hadn't expected him to be there, leaning against the counter like that, arms crossed over his chest, patiently awaiting her arrival.

She noticed he was still dressed all in black, only now the clothes didn't look as expensive or as nice. They seemed older and a little baggy on him. There was also a hollowness to him that hadn't been there before – and she didn't mean the coldness he gave off; she meant that he appeared gaunt, as if he'd lost a little bit of weight since the last time she'd seen him and it hadn't been that long ago.

Though if what she'd seen down in the basement was anything to go by, she could understand his appearance.

"Oh look, it's Ms. Busy Brain again," he said, continuing to lean against the counter. "You didn't think I spent all my time down there, did you?"

She shrugged. "Figured you wouldn't want to be seen walking around during the day, considering no one is supposed to be living here."

"I know how to keep people away."

"I'm sure. Those women yesterday . . . how did you keep them away?"

"They bought this house originally," he said. "I killed them in that timeline. In this one there was no need. I sent them away. They'll never come back."

"So they're still alive?"

"Yes. Despite what Mallory may have told you . . . I don't kill without a reason to."

She scoffed. "Um . . . you destroyed the world. What was the reason for that?"

"To make a better one," he said simply. "One without all the rules, one where people can live the way they want to without fear of consequence or judgment."

She shook her head as that settled. "That sounds nice on the surface, but there's so much wrong with it. Rules are set in place for a reason."

"Hm. Your eyes are closed to the possibility, but wouldn't you love a place where you could just tell your parents how you really feel about them?"

"What?" Where had that come from? They hadn't even been talking about her parents, and this wasn't why she'd come here anyway.

"Your parents. That you hate them for using you as a glorified babysitter, even if you do care about your sister. That you never want to be like them – cold and hard – so you try your best to be soft and warm. A soft and warm person would never have made the decision to let the house burn. That was a cold thing to do."

"It was a practical thing to do," she countered. "Practical and cold are often confused with the other, but they are two different things."

She didn't correct him about her parents even though it was wrong. She didn't hate them at all; there was resentment there, but most people resented something about their parents. She wasn't alone in that.

"Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about my parents."

Langdon waited for her to continue, still seeming patient and immovable.

"There's something in my house."

"You mean other than the other me?" There was a faint hint of amusement in his voice now.

"Obviously."

Knowing he would be able to see it or sense it, or however it worked, she focused on what she'd seen the night before. The shadow creature, the wings, the horns. It definitely got a reaction out of Langdon.

He moved away from the counter and into her personal space.

"Is this the first time you've seen him?"

"Yes," she said, fighting the urge to take a step back from his sudden presence. "It's manifested itself before in other ways, but I first saw its shadow last night. What is it?"

"Why do you think I know?"

"Well, you called it a him and not an it. And you wouldn't have reacted the way you did if you didn't recognize . . . him."

"Would you believe me if I told you that you have Satan living in your house?"

"Are you talking about that thing . . . or are you talking about Michael?"

"If Satan gets a hold of him then they will be one and the same. Satan's words will be Michael's words."

Elizabeth tensed up. Somehow, she'd known that, but she'd never had it vocalized and she wished it hadn't been. It made it more real.

"I don't know if it will happen," Langdon admitted, his voice low and smooth. "I . . . you weren't around while this was happening to me."

She noticed that he'd faltered just a little bit while speaking, almost like the last time when she'd apologized to him. He'd shown a little bit of humanity just by listening to her words and letting them sink in.

"What . . . what happened to you?" she asked softly. "If you don't mind me asking."

"I told you my grandmother killed herself in the original timeline. She did so in this house, so her spirit could be with her children forever. I started living here, so I could be with them. No one wanted to see me. Ben was the only one who would talk to me. He tried to help me, but I was just too much. The two women that showed up yesterday, I originally killed them because they weren't supposed to be here. I wouldn't have been able to stay with any of them if they'd been kept alive."

Elizabeth tried taking everything in. Constance had killed herself to get away from Langdon, and hadn't wanted to see him after her death. He still would've been her Michael's age at that time; he probably would've still had her Michael's control issues, and would've only been thinking about not wanting to have to leave everything he knew behind, even if they hadn't wanted to see him – they were what had been familiar to him.

She could see exactly where the timeline had altered. It was the moment Constance had decided to throw Michael out of the house. Originally, she'd killed herself and Michael had stuck around, but now in this new timeline, Michael had been kicked out and had met her. He wasn't going to be living in a house where he wasn't wanted. He wasn't going to be around people who just kept giving up on him or wouldn't give him a chance at all.

"When did you find out you were . . . what you are?" She couldn't even say it, it was so crazy.

"The anti-Christ?" He went back to his place at the counter. "Not too much longer, if it goes the same way. As long as he and the devil don't . . . connect . . ."

Langdon stopped and shook his head. "Everything is different, as I said."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "Is there a way you can, ya know, call him off? I mean . . . get him out of my house."

"I can't. It's not my place. Where I come from, I can communicate with him. Since I've come here, it's like I've lost that connection. I believe it's due to there being two different timelines. My father is not here."

"That thing is Michael's dad? Like for real? That's what was possessing Tate when . . ."

"Correct."

She'd thought Constance had been crazy when she'd told her that story, but apparently she'd been wrong. And what was she supposed to do now? Now that she knew Michael actually could become the anti-Christ?

It didn't change how she felt about him. It didn't change the fact that he still needed guidance and that she liked having him around. It didn't change anything at all, because he was still Michael no matter what he was supposed to become, even if that was the man standing across from her. Maybe she could keep him from sinking into darkness because, as Langdon had said . . . everything was different.

"You know, you really shouldn't be here all alone. It's not healthy." Then, "And I live right down the street. You didn't have to resort to eating rats. I would've given you some food."

Langdon surprised her then by letting out a few breaths of laughter – they literally sounded like a few huffs of air coming from his mouth – and letting some of the tension fall from his shoulders.

"I suppose I'm just supposed to come knock on your door and let your Michael see what he may become?

"Absolutely not. But we could've found a way. You could've sent me a telepathic message or something. Left a note in the mailbox."

"And you would've just . . . given me food?"

"I would've figured something out. You shouldn't have to starve. Besides, you're not the anti-Christ of this world. In case you haven't noticed, it's still standing.

After about a minute of silence, Langdon said, "Before I . . . ascended, the skies turned red and a murder of crows circled this house. That will probably happen at your house now, if it happens at all. People will consider that an omen. If it happens, we can talk again. You'll have time before they come."

"They?"

"The people who want Michael to end the world. The people who follow my father – or his father, I suppose."

* * *

After a few more minutes of talking, Elizabeth thanked Langdon for the information and went on her way. She'd been gone long enough and she knew Michael got antsy if she was gone for longer than she normally was. He was antsy in a different way that he used to be – he no longer thought she would start running and never stop because she wanted to get away from him, but he did worry about her. She supposed that was normal, considering what they'd been through.

That day, however, Michael only seemed confused when she returned a little later than she normally would have. And it was all because she wasn't sweating. He noticed it and mentioned it to her, especially when she didn't head straight to the bathroom for a shower.

"I just didn't go as hard today," she said, which was technically true, since she hadn't really jogged at all. "What'd you do while I was gone?"

"Watched TV."

The TV was still on – some cartoon that Elizabeth had never seen before – and Michael seemed as if he wasn't really paying attention to it anyway. It was just background noise.

"Michael, I was thinking the other day and it just slipped my mind, but how much did Constance teach you? I know she taught you at least a little bit of grammar, but were there other things? Math, science, history?"

"I know a little bit of math – the basics. Addition, subtraction, multiplication, division. I like math. I don't like history, but she also taught me the basics. Pilgrims, Indians, the different wars, the presidents. She didn't try to teach me science."

There was a pause and then a very defiant but adorable Michael turned to her and said, "I'm not going to school."

"No. I was more thinking I would help teach you."

"Oh." He was instantly placated. "Well, that's okay then."

* * *

Okay, so there are two different Michael's and I feel like Elizabeth's chemistry is different with both of them. Let me know what you think about the Langdon scene. He's still tricky to write for me.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

It was the night before Thanksgiving that Michael woke up around two in the morning because he heard Elizabeth muttering to herself. There were a few curse words thrown in and he heard her moving around – from her bedroom to the bathroom and back to her bedroom. About a minute later she came back out of her bedroom and he heard as the footsteps faded toward the kitchen.

He wondered what had made her get up and wander around, and his first thought was that maybe that thing was back and messing with her again. The last time it had decided to present itself, it had gotten physical, torn apart the kitchen and thrown a plate at Elizabeth's head.

What if it had decided to start harassing her in her own room?

Despite the late hour and the fact that Elizabeth sounded more annoyed than afraid, Michael got up to go check on her. He wouldn't have even stopped at her room if he hadn't noticed there were no sheets on her bed, and that right in the middle of her mattress was a small but noticeable red stain.

His mind automatically went to the thought of Elizabeth bleeding, though he couldn't think of a reason why she'd be bleeding in the middle of the night while she should've been sleeping.

He made his way down the hallway and turned into the kitchen. He knew she was probably in the laundry room, so that was where he went.

"Miss Elizabeth, did you hurt yourself?"

That was when he saw her. Her arms were full of her bedsheets and he could see the stains on them as well. He must have frightened her by his sudden appearance because she jumped a little and then held the sheets tighter against her chest.

Once he took in her state of undress – a tank-top and underwear only – he clapped a hand over his eyes. He wasn't supposed to look. His gramma had taught him enough to know that he wasn't supposed to look at a woman's bare legs because if her legs were bare, then the only thing covering her most intimate parts was a thin piece of clothing and he wasn't supposed to see that either.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were –"

He stopped talking when he heard Elizabeth laughing. Was she laughing at him?

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"It's okay, Michael. You can look. It's just skin."

He spread his fingers apart slowly as he realized he wasn't going to get in trouble for seeing her without pants on, and then he remembered his original reason for coming to look for her.

"There's a bit of blood on your bed. I thought maybe you hurt yourself."

"I didn't hurt myself," she said, putting the sheets in the washing machine and messing with the settings on it.

"Then why are you bleeding?"

"Because I'm a woman." She shrugged. "It's happens every month."

That didn't make sense to Michael, but it had to be true if Elizabeth was saying it.

"But you're not hurt? I don't see a wound."

That was the moment Miss Elizabeth seemed to get uncomfortable talking about it, and he didn't want to push at all, but he was still worried about the blood and the fact that he couldn't see where it was coming from.

"Okay, I'm assuming Constance never explained to you about the birds and the bees."

She led him back into the kitchen and she put a pot of water on the stove.

"I'm gonna make some tea. You want some?"

He shook his head and waited patiently for her to get done so she could continue talking to him.

"Okay, to keep this brief and not so disturbing, as a woman . . . I will bleed for about a week out of every month. I'm probably going to be tired for the next few days and I will be in constant pain – not bad pain, more like an ache for me. I can take something for it to make the pain go away."

"But why are you bleeding?"

The explanation she gave him horrified him, but not in a way that disgusted him. It was more in the way of it sounded like a horrible thing to have to go through every month. He was suddenly very glad that he wasn't a woman. He was also glad that she hadn't actually been hurt.

She left him in the kitchen briefly, so she could go put some pajama pants on and when she came back, she fixed her tea and sat at the table.

"You don't have to stay up. I'm just waiting for my sheets to get done. I might sleep on the couch until then."

* * *

Michael stayed up with her for a few minutes, and Elizabeth did end up falling asleep on the couch after she put the sheets in the dryer.

She hadn't expected Michael to get up earlier because she hadn't been making that much noise, she hadn't thought, and he was usually a deep sleeper. It wasn't like the night the plates had been thrown to the floor – that probably would've woken anyone up. Maybe he'd just become more sensitive to noises at night. She couldn't blame him if that were the case.

She hadn't meant to laugh at him when he'd put a hand over his eyes when he'd realized she didn't have pants on. She hadn't bothered putting any on since she hadn't thought he'd get up to check on her.

She's woken up to the familiar and unpleasant feeling of the sticky wetness that was blood between her legs and it had all gone from there. She hated starting in the middle of the night; it was just inconvenient because she would have to lose a few hours of sleep.

She never would've thought she'd have to explain what a period was to a guy – or to anyone, really, because she hadn't even had to explain what it was to her sister; school had done it for her. – but Michael had taken it better than she thought he would've. He hadn't reacted like a normal guy did when a period was brought up. He hadn't seemed uncomfortable at all; he'd mostly just been relieved, if not a little confused, that she wasn't actually hurt.

Once the buzzer went off on the dryer, she got the sheets out and went back to her bedroom. She put those sheets aside and decided to use older ones that she wouldn't care if blood got on them and stained.

She slept peacefully until around ten and then got up to start preparing the food for dinner. She'd been planning on something small, but now that she knew Langdon needed food, she was going to fix a little extra in case he showed up. He probably wouldn't because he hadn't come around yet, even though she'd made it clear she would give him some if he asked.

Let him eat his nasty animals if he was too stubborn to ask for what he needed.

* * *

Once Michael got up and saw that Elizabeth was already preparing their meal for the day, he asked if he could help.

"Well, you're good with a knife so you can cut up some vegetables if you want."

He could already smell the ham baking in the oven and it made his stomach rumble. He sampled the vegetables as he cut them up. There were peppers, cucumbers, and carrots. Elizabeth showed him how to make a ranch dip for the veggies. It was easy; just sour cream and the Ranch powder mixed together.

She'd bought coleslaw and potato salad premade, each in its own container.

"Isn't that cheating?" he'd asked when she'd bought it.

"Absolutely not," she'd answered.

She made instant potatoes, which Michael had never heard of; his gramma would never have made instant anything. He ended up liking them just the same as regular potatoes.

He helped her make chocolate chip cookies, which basically meant he stole the chocolate chips as she was making the cookies. She pretended to be annoyed because of it, but she ended up taking some for herself as well.

They ended up snacking on the vegetables he'd chopped up instead of having actual lunch since they were going to have such a big dinner.

Michael remembered what Elizabeth had told him that morning about her feeling tired for the next few days, and he did notice her lack of energy, but she'd also had to get up to wash her sheets that morning, so maybe it was just that taking its toll on her.

Once dinner was ready, they did what they normally did and watched TV while eating. Elizabeth picked because Michael really didn't know much about movies. She picked something called _Transformers_ , and he liked it well enough even if it was definitely farfetched, realistically speaking.

It was during the movie that Elizabeth started showing signs of the pain she'd mentioned that morning. She'd explained the cramps and why they happened, which had been the reason he'd thought it was so horrible that it happened every month.

So there she was curled up on one end of the sofa, her knees drawn up and her arms crossed over her abdomen.

"Do you want your medicine?"

"I'll get some if it gets worse."

"Why suffer if you don't have to, though, Miss Elizabeth? You have something to make the pain go away, so use it."

"Well, if you're gonna use logic . . ."

Michael was relieved to see that the pain went away quickly after she took her pills for it, and he was able to enjoy the rest of the movie.

* * *

That night, the presence made itself known again. It surprised Elizabeth because the activity started before midnight and before they went to bed. In fact, they were still in front of the TV when everything started.

At first it was just the familiar feeling of oppression she felt whenever the thing was near, but it went even further this time. The living room became sweltering hot. She even started sweating. Michael seemed unaffected by the heat, but he was fidgeting and pulling at the collar of his shirt. Unlike the times before, this thing wanted Michael to know it was there.

The pattern until then had been that it would start with Elizabeth and then it would stop once Michael became aware of it. The first night when it had made her stomach hurt, it had stopped when Michael woke up. The night in the kitchen, the activity had stopped once Michael had arrived. He hadn't heard the growling or seen the shadow on the wall.

But now . . . now it seemed mostly focused on Michael. He didn't seem afraid, though, just uncomfortable.

The one thing that was the same, however, was the fact that this thing wanted Elizabeth to stay away from Michael. The same growling she'd heard from before filled the room. It wasn't exactly menacing, but there was a warning there. Michael heard it this time and seemed to understand the message as well.

"You just stay where you are," he said, "and it'll leave you alone."

She knew he was right. That was what it wanted, for her to leave him alone.

"If I do that, I'll be giving it exactly what it wants," she told him.

At that moment, Michael looked older than she'd ever seen him, especially around the eyes. He looked almost defeated, as if he'd realized something terrible but true and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Me. It's always been after me. Everything that's happened to you has been my fault. You've been protecting me."

She moved a little closer, despite the fact that she knew she shouldn't, despite the fact that the growling noise intensified the closer she got.

"Michael . . . I know. I figured that out already, and I continued to let you stay here. I don't blame you at all. It doesn't want me with you because . . ."

"Because you help me be better," he said. "You keep the darkness away."

The temperature was probably around eighty at the moment, though it seemed to be rising. Elizabeth was contemplating opening a window because it was hotter in the house than it was outside – it was probably around forty.

"Remember what I told you when all this started? You have to tell it to go away. It's not allowed because it's not welcome."

That rotten, sulfuric smell suddenly permeated the room, and Elizabeth felt her stomach start to rebel, it was that bad. The growling was still happening, but with it a horrible sense of dread began to settle in her chest.

Elizabeth realized that this thing had found its way in to both of them. It was using them against each other; it was making Michael realize that it could hurt her. It hadn't been able to weasel itself into Elizabeth's mind to make her send Michael away or make her fear him or be angry at him, so it was going to use Michael's feelings against him, make him want to keep her at a distance so he could keep her safe, if not from himself then from the thing trailing him.

"You tell it to go away," she said, her throat tightening. "It can't have you if you don't let it."

The growl turned into an actual roaring sound – it sounding more like something from a Jurassic Park movie – and then her right forearm burst out with pain and she let out a scream.

* * *

Michael watched as blood began running down Elizabeth's arm. It took him only seconds to respond. He basically flew over to her, fast as he was moving. Whatever had been making him, urging him to keep his distance, didn't matter anymore because she was hurt. She had screamed. She was bleeding.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

He felt the same sense of helplessness here as he had when he'd found his gramma dead on her couch. He didn't know what to do, how to help Elizabeth at all.

There were three scratch marks on her arm, though the marks looked more like cuts than scratches since she was bleeding so badly. They both sat there for what seemed like ages but was really probably only seconds before Elizabeth began telling him what to do.

The thing was still present, still angry at her words – _It can't have you if you don't let it_. That was what the thing had reacted so violently to; it hadn't liked those words at all.

 _Go away, you're not welcome here. Go away, you're not welcome here._ He kept repeating that in his head and eventually the feeling of the presence receded but didn't completely fade. Michael took what he could get.

"I need to go to the bathroom. The first aid kit is in there," Elizabeth said. "You're going to have to help me now, Michael."

He nodded quickly. "Okay."

He ignored the part of him that was telling him this was a bad idea – she was hurt because of her closeness to him, so he should stay far away – and helped her to the bathroom.

He watched as Elizabeth turned the water on at the faucet. She let the water run over her wounds, and Michael watched as the blood was cleaned from her skin. The marks didn't seem as bad as they'd first appeared now that the blood was being washed away.

"The kit is under the sink," she said as she turned the water off and moved to sit on the toilet.

Michael got what was needed and then knelt in front of Elizabeth. He still didn't know what to do, so he awaited her instructions. He noticed that her body was tense and shaking. She was afraid and she didn't want him to know it.

She pointed to a tube of cream and he reached for it. It was something he had to dab onto her wounds so they wouldn't get infected. He was just glad he could do it and that they didn't need to take her to the hospital.

He could tell that the cream burned when he applied it to her skin, but she let him continue. "Best to get it over with," she said.

"I'm sorry. You're hurt because of me. It's my fault."

"No, I'm hurt because that thing is evil, and that's not your fault."

But Michael knew it was. As soon as the presence had made itself known to Michael it also made it known that the only reason Elizabeth had suffered at all was because of what she was doing for Michael. It had gone after her to try and make her send Michael away. That hadn't worked, so now the decision was being left up to Michael. It would continue its attacks on Elizabeth as long as they continued as they had been.

Now that Michael knew what was happening, it really would be his fault if Elizabeth got hurt again because it would be his choice to stay close to her that would be the cause.

* * *

Elizabeth was quiet as Michael helped bandage her arm. The cream had burned, but she knew she needed it. Who knew what kind of infection she could get from a demonic attack? To be honest, another reason she was being quiet was because she was still shaken up. The only time she spoke was if Michael spoke to her, but he had gone quiet as well.

She knew he was blaming himself for the marks on her arm and for everything else that the demon – devil? – had done, but she wasn't. He hadn't caused the hurt himself, and she'd known before he had that the reason the thing was messing with her was because she was in the way of whatever it had planned for Michael. She didn't regret it and she wouldn't change it, even if she had the power to.

Elizabeth placed her free hand on Michael's head to soothe him – mostly because she knew he loved it and it actually would soothe him – and began playing with his hair. His fingers stilled against her wrist, bandaging only halfway done, and she watched as his hands began to shake.

His face contorted into an expression of pain and he almost instantly began to sob. He was already on his knees, but his body seemed to somehow sink further down, and his head landed on her lap as his arms went around her middle.

"I'm sorry" he apologized again. "I'm so sorry."

Pain erupted in her own chest at the very broken boy in front of her, the boy that was clinging onto her, and she fought her own need to cry. She lost that battle quickly as her tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she embraced him as well, ignoring the pain in her arm. She continued running her fingers through his hair, hoping to calm him quickly.

It was as she was trying to soothe him that her fingertips trailed over a few bumps near his right ear. She'd felt them once before, but they had slipped from her mind until now. She remembered she'd told herself she was going to check them because it felt to her as if it were some kind of skin irritation, but she'd never gotten around to it.

She decided now was as good a time as ever, so she slid his hair back a little away from the area so she could see what it was she'd felt. Her hand stilled there in his hair.

There were three numbers there – or one number three times. She wanted to say they seemed etched into his skin, but it was more than that. It was as if they were etched _under_ his skin and it made the flesh rise up where the numbers were.

Her breath got caught in her throat as disbelief filled her. The numbers were there, plain as day: 666


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"How bad does it hurt?" Michael asked as he wiped his face free from tears.

He didn't know how long they'd been there in the bathroom, him kneeling on the floor in front of Elizabeth. He'd let go of her, of course, and had finished bandaging her wounds, but they hadn't left right away.

Elizabeth's body was stiff and her hands rested in her lap. There were tears still falling from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks, and Michael didn't know what to do to help her, to make her feel better.

Her hand had tightened briefly in his hair when she'd been playing with it, and her breathing had hitched a few times before she'd forced herself to calm down and let his hair go.

She'd been silent for a while. He hadn't said anything either, not until just then. He figured they just didn't know what to say. What _could_ they say? They both knew and understood what had happened, what that thing wanted. They both knew what would happen if Michael and Elizabeth continued as they were. The proof was on her arm.

It could get worse. It would, if they didn't do what it wanted.

"I'm okay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That . . . that wasn't what I asked."

She took a deep breath, looked down at her arm.

"It burns. But it's not as bad as it could've been. It's not as bad as I thought."

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I mean, I know what it wants, and I know I don't want you to get hurt again."

Something changed in Elizabeth. The tension seemed to drain from her body and a huge sigh of relief made its way out of her mouth. She brought her hands up to cup his face. He let her guide him so that they were eye to eye. There was a fierceness in her eyes that he recognized as something the was strictly hers, only this was on a more intense level.

"I can't make that decision for you, Michael. But I'm going to help you as long as you let me help you."

"Aren't you scared?"

"I'm terrified," she admitted quickly. "That doesn't mean I'm just going to give up. But you can't give up either. Okay?"

He didn't answer right away. If he didn't give up, give in, she could be hurt worse than she already was.

She shook him a little and squeezed his face tighter.

"Michael, you don't give up. This thing, it's evil, and it's willing to hurt me to get what it wants. So you don't give it what it wants. Ever. It's hurting you by hurting me, because it knows you care about me. And no matter what happens now, you have to remember that I care about you too. Okay? And I do not blame you for what it did to me. That was not your fault. You did not hurt me."

"But I am the reason you were hurt."

Elizabeth didn't try to make him think otherwise. It didn't matter; nothing she could have said would have changed his mind.

* * *

That night Elizabeth suggested they keep their routine up, her reading to Michael before they went to bed. He'd seemed hesitant, but nothing happened when she started to read, and so he relaxed. She read her usual one chapter and then placed the book on his bedside table.

Apparently, there were certain parts of their relationship that were okay. They would have to find out what those parts were and just deal with it until they figured something out.

As Elizabeth left for the night – because staying together at night was probably not allowed anymore – she turned to look at Michael, who was wide awake despite the late hour, probably because of everything that had happened earlier, and noticed the shadow again. It was perched on the headboard of his bed, almost as if it were keeping watch. It probably was.

"Good night, Michael. Try to sleep."

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth."

That was that, and she went to her own room, her chest full of some emotion that was between fear and anger. How dare this thing prey on Michael when he didn't have the means to fight it. Despite his appearance, and despite his on-and-off bouts of maturity, he was still only four years old. He was not emotionally capable of making it go away, not for any real length of time – not even the few days she'd been able to. At least when it went up against her, she was able to somewhat stand up to it.

Elizabeth went to her own room and got in bed. She didn't change into her pajamas, though, because she wasn't tired either. She was basically waiting for another attack even though she knew that the spirit or demon or whatever was in Michael's room.

It was at that point that Elizabeth knew that it wasn't going to be any actual attacks that would drive her insane – as long as they didn't go past what had happened that night, because after the marks had been cleaned, they didn't appear that bad. No, it would be the anticipation of awaiting another attack that would get to her.

She was going to hate walking on eggshells in her own house. She needed to find a way to get this thing – she still couldn't believe it was the devil even though she knew it was – out of her house – a way that didn't involve making Michael leave.

Elizabeth was up for hours just thinking about everything that had happened, especially her finding those numbers behind Michael's ear. She'd felt paralyzed at first because even though she _knew_ who he was supposed to be, who she believed Langdon to be, she hadn't really considered it until she'd seen the numbers. She knew what they meant; she'd seen enough horror movies to know those numbers represented the mark of the beast.

But what did having the mark of the beast really mean? Michael still cared about her, he didn't want her hurt. If he were evil, if he really were the anti-Christ . . . he shouldn't be able to feel things like that, right? Not love, not real love – and no, he hadn't said it, but she could tell he loved her, even if it was the love a child felt for someone taking care of him, it was real. And she loved him, obviously, or she wouldn't put up with everything that came with keeping him there with her.

Suddenly her eyes fell on the Bible sitting on her bedside table. She'd placed it there when she'd bought it and hadn't opened it at all since. Maybe now was the time to start reading it.

She grabbed it and opened it, placed it on her lap. She turned to the first book, the book of Genesis, and started reading silently. She almost expected the evil in Michael's room to burst through her door and attack her again just for reading the book she was reading, but nothing happened. Maybe it didn't care what she was reading as long as she did what it wanted when it came to Michael.

She didn't read much, just the first few chapters. She'd heard the creation story before, how God had created everything just by speaking it into existence, and the story about the serpent leading Eve astray, but she'd never read them herself.

Her family didn't even own a Bible, she was pretty sure, and she'd never been one for church. She'd never seen the reason to go, her life was fine the way it was. She'd never considered herself an atheist exactly, because she didn't have anything against God and she didn't not believe in Him. She was more agnostic – she didn't know what she believed in. Or she hadn't until that night, and it had nothing to do with the book in her lap or the chapters she'd read.

The reason she was considering that God might be real was because she'd found out that the devil was, that the anti-Christ was. If there was a devil and an anti-Christ, it stood to reason that God was real and that Jesus was too. She was a logical person, and so logically if there was a spirit or demon or whatever the devil was considered as being causing bad things to happen, there had to be something out there allowing good things to happen too.

If the devil had been created and God was supposed to have created everything . . . God had to be real then.

* * *

Unknown to Elizabeth, Michael was dreaming while she was reading about God's creation. In his dream he was still in his room in Elizabeth's house. However, someone who wasn't Elizabeth was in the room with him. The person was standing at the foot of his bed, just staring at him.

The person looked like Tate, but Michael knew that it wasn't him. It was whatever the thing was that had made itself known to him the night before. He didn't know why it was using the image of Tate to try and talk to him.

"You know him as your father. He is only the vessel I used to make sure you were born."

Michael didn't understand anything of what had just been said. How had Tate just been a vessel, and what did that mean for Michael?

"It means he was possessed when you were conceived. I was possessing him. I used his body to create you."

"Who are you?"

"I have many names."

Tate's dark eyes held a strange light, and it wasn't a good light. Not like Elizabeth's. She had a light that shined from within. This was more like there was light hitting obsidian rock and reflecting off of it. There was nothing on the inside. He was empty.

Michael noticed that the Tate look-alike hadn't answered his question.

"Then what's your name?"

"Originally I was called Lucifer. I'm known as the Devil and as Satan."

Michael knew those names only because his gramma had talked about Lucifer, the fallen angel, a few times. After Lucifer fell, people came to know him as Satan. Gramma had considered herself as religious and had spoken about things like that all the time.

"What do you want with me?"

"I have something I need you to do. Something only you can do."

"And what's that?"

"To begin a new world. A world where people like you, people with your urges aren't looked down upon. They're glorified."

People with his urges? Did he mean the urge to hurt? Because Michael didn't want to hurt anyone, not really. That urge belonged to the thing inside of him that took over when he lost control.

"That's not me," he insisted. "I just need to learn control."

"Why control it, though? Let it free."

Michael was already shaking his head before it had even stopped talking.

"I don't want to hurt anybody."

He didn't care who this person or being was. He didn't care that he was supposedly the son of Satan. He only cared about Elizabeth and what she would think if he just gave up trying to be good.

"She was never supposed to have anything to do with you. It never should have happened. You were meant to be raised by Constance Langdon until you were ready to be taken in by others that could lead you down your path."

"My path?"

"Creating that new world. Your job would be to destroy this one first."

Michael's first reaction was anger. Why would he or should he do anything this thing wanted him to do? It had hurt his Miss Elizabeth.

"I promised to leave her alone."

"If we left each other alone. I know. I never promised anything else."

It wasn't as if he could leave. He had nowhere else to go, had no one else to take care of him. She was all he had, the only one who had ever shown him genuine concern.

"If she cares so much about you, why is she lying to you?"

That caught Michael by surprise. Elizabeth wasn't lying to him. She wouldn't do that. She wasn't a liar.

"Ask her how long she's known the truth, how long she's known whose child you are, and you'll see she very much is a liar."

* * *

The next morning found Elizabeth still tired because she hadn't slept well after she actually got to sleep. Michael was already awake and up. He looked about as rested as she felt. They had matching dark circles around their eyes.

They ate breakfast in silence and then Michael planted himself on the couch in front of the TV. There was a heaviness to Michael, to the actual atmosphere around him. It was the physicality of the decision she knew he'd made the night before; to go through the motions but to keep her at a distance. Michael was slumped on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I have to work today. Do you wanna come?"

"No," he said, soft but firm.

"Are you sure? Maybe if you got out of the house . . ."

"It won't matter. It's not the house that he's attached to. It's me."

"He?"

"I think it's a he. I had a dream last night that made me think it was a he."

"What did you dream about?"

"It was just . . . It was just us talking. Me and him."

"Oh . . . what did –"

"Who's my father?"

The question had been asked so abruptly that Elizabeth was taken aback by it. Why was he even asking that?

"Is that what you talked about? Who your dad is?"

"That was one of the things we talked about." He looked at her now. "Do you know who he is?"

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the couch and rubbed her face with her hands. She was not ready for this conversation.

"I was hoping you would never find out, Michael."

He slumped even further into the couch. "So . . . it's true? I'm the son of Satan, and I'm supposed to destroy the world?"

"No, you're not supposed to do anything. Part of you is human. You have a choice." She moved a little closer to him. "This is why I didn't tell you anything. I didn't want you to feel like you didn't have options, that you were fated to end the world."

"How long have you known?"

"I found the mark last night." She wished she could tell him just that, but she had to be completely honest with him, especially since she'd been asked a direct question. "I never believed until last night, but Mallory mentioned it the first day I took you in. I thought she was just talking crazy."

"Mallory?"

Elizabeth nodded. "The day you were almost run over by that car and I brought you here, I went to talk to Constance after you fell asleep. Mallory was there. That's when she told me."

"But how did she know? She'd never even met me until . . . until the day after Gramma kicked me out."

Elizabeth didn't know what to say. Yes, she knew the truth and was willing to tell him, but how much was he able to take at once.

"Michael, I will tell you everything if you really want to know. And I have kept things from you, but I have never really lied to you."

Even the day she'd pretended to go for a jog only to go see Langdon she hadn't really lied; she'd just said she hadn't gone that hard when he'd noticed she wasn't sweating when she got back.

"The devil twists words and plants doubt. That's what he does. Did he tell you I was lying to you?"

"Maybe . . ." he said, eyes cast down.

"You already know that he doesn't want us to be close. He said that so you would pull away from me."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I kept things from you to protect you. I never wanted you to think you had no other choice but to be bad. Because you do have a choice."

"What else have you been keeping from me?" Michael's voice wasn't angry or defensive; it was curious.

"A few things, but can we tackle them one at a time, please? I just . . . it's overwhelming and, honestly, I don't think anyone but you would believe me. That's how crazy it is."

Michael took a minute to think about it and then, "One at a time? But soon?"

"Soon," she agreed.

* * *

Okay, so . . . Satan is a doubt planter and wants to get between Michael and Elizabeth as much as he can.


	15. Chapter 15

Okay, so I know this has taken me A LONG TIME to get up here when the other ones have been, like, once a week, but I had SO MUCH TROUBLE with this chapter. I also feel like Langdon is a little out of character, but I'm kind of going into territory that wasn't covered in the show, so this is my take on it. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Fifteen

When Michael had agreed that Elizabeth could tell him the rest soon, she hadn't thought he meant later that same day. But that was definitely what he'd meant, because he asked her to tell him before bed – that was usually when they had their longer conversations anyway.

She basically started from the beginning. Mallory had told her that she'd been from the future and that she'd known Michael from her time period. She was a witch, so she was able to do spells and that was how she'd gotten to where she ended up. She was trying to prevent the destruction of her world.

"You told me I reminded her of someone," Michael said. "It was really just . . . me from her time period."

Elizabeth was silent as he processed this.

"So . . . I do end up destroying the world? I make the wrong choice?"

She didn't know how to explain the relief she felt that Michael thought that destroying the world was a wrong choice. Langdon very much had not thought it was wrong. It actually sounded as if he'd thought he was doing the world a favor by destroying the earth only to rebuild it to his liking.

"Michael, I . . . wasn't a part of your life then. Mallory said I didn't find you that time around, so I wasn't able to help you. You don't have to make that choice this time."

"What changed? If you weren't there last time . . ."

"Michael . . . Mallory came back to get rid of you so you'd never even make it to the point of being able to make the choice to end the world." Elizabeth hated telling him that. "The day you were almost run over . . . it was her behind the wheel. Um . . . originally, she wasn't here so you were never almost . . . killed, so I never got involved . . . and so you never moved in with me."

"So, I stayed with Gramma?"

"Uh, for a bit, I think, and then . . . she killed herself in the Murder House and so you moved in there."

And now for the tricky part . . .

"Someone else came back, Michael, and I've talked to him a couple of times."

"Okay . . ."

"He followed Mallory back here. And he was very much who she was afraid of."

Michael took a few seconds to figure out what she was talking about, but he eventually did.

"You mean me, or future me?"

"Yes and no. He's definitely a future version of you, but I don't think he's from this particular time line – more like a different dimension because his life is different from yours. He was brought up differently. I wasn't in his life, as I said, so . . . "

"So he didn't have a Miss Elizabeth to help him learn to be good," Michael said.

"No, he didn't, and his view of right and wrong is totally skewed." She took a deep breath. "Do you want to meet him?"

"Do you think I should?"

Elizabeth hesitated. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know anything about this time travel/alternate dimension stuff. She knew that it was theorized in books and movies that if someone saw a future version of themselves it could drive that person insane. She knew that from Harry Potter and Back to the Future, but those were also works of fiction, so she didn't know if she should trust that information.

"He . . . I don't think he means you or me any harm. But he is dangerous. He . . . He's the reason Mallory is dead. He says it was justified, but he also thinks that it was justifiable to destroy a world just to build a new one."

Michael froze then, his eyes on her.

"What?"

"That's what he said I was supposed to do. In my dream he said in order to make a better world, I had to destroy this one. He also said I was never meant to be here with you. If . . . if Mallory hadn't come back, I never would've been."

"Hm. Langdon – that's what the other you calls himself – said he saw me save you, almost like you weren't meant to die. Maybe that's true. I don't know if I believe in fate, but I do believe in second chances, so maybe this is the chance you get to do things the right way."

* * *

Despite the fact that Michael and Elizabeth had spent so much time talking, Elizabeth still read a chapter to him that night. He was glad. It took his mind off of all the information he had just learned.

He'd taken in a lot that night. Witches were real, which wasn't that hard to swallow since he could do what he could do, and even though he didn't really understand the time traveling stuff, he believed Elizabeth and what she'd told him.

Besides, Mallory didn't matter to him. The important thing – the most important thing – he'd learned that night was that he had actually done what the . . . the devil . . . wanted him to. He'd destroyed the world.

Speaking of the devil, he had been suspiciously quiet when Elizabeth told him what had been going on for the past month and a half. Michael wondered if it was because the devil's plan had backfired. Yes, Michael had found out that she had been keeping things from him, but she had never outright lied. The devil, however, had.

The devil was always trying to get in Elizabeth's way – maybe because she was in his way – but she never let it bother her, really, and she always found a way to thwart him. She always made it known that the devil was not welcome in her home and never gave him free reign; when he'd attacked her with that plate, she just went out and bought paper ones, ones that wouldn't hurt if they hit her; when Michael told her what the devil had told him about her lies, she just told him what they were and that she had never actually lied to him.

He'd also learned that there was another version of him living there in town – in the Murder House, actually. Elizabeth hadn't specifically said that, but that was really the only place they'd been in where she could've found him.

He had a decision to make: whether he wanted to meet this other him. He wasn't sure at all. He had killed Mallory, but Elizabeth said he'd thought it was justified. What did that mean? And had he really destroyed the world as in destroyed the earth?

Michael was definitely interested in this other him, and it was good that Elizabeth didn't think he meant them harm. He trusted her judgment above everything else.

* * *

The next morning Elizabeth woke up before Michael did, as was usual, and began making breakfast. They hadn't had a big breakfast in a while and she was kind of craving the whole deal – bacon, eggs, biscuits and gravy – so she decided to just go for it. The scent of food cooking would wake Michael up, and they could eat together. They could talk about what Michael wanted to do.

Elizabeth felt her usual jolt of endearment at seeing Michael only half-awake. His hair was sleep-messy and his right cheek was red and had a crease in it from where he'd been laying on his pillow.

He wiped his eyes and yawned as he took a seat at the table. Rather than sitting down gracefully, he sort of just plopped down.

"Good morning," she said.

"Morning. I smelled bacon."

She smiled softly. "Yes, you did." She told him the other two things they were having and he smiled back. "Did you . . . sleep okay?"

Michael nodded. "I didn't have any dreams last night."

"Good," she said, relieved. "Means I don't have to do damage control."

Things were mostly quiet then until Elizabeth finished cooking. Michael had his elbow propped on the table, his cheek resting in his hand. It appeared as if he were about to fall back asleep. He woke back up once food was placed in front of him.

"Thank you," he said.

Elizabeth knew Michael loved food. It was cute that he always waited for her to make her own plate and sit down with him before he would start to eat. She considered it a show of respect.

Once they started eating, Michael became more animated, more awake.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"Hm?"

"I thought about it last night, and I feel like I should meet this other me. You said he's already told you a few things. Maybe he could . . . help. Or maybe you could make him want to help."

She was flattered by the faith he seemed to have in her, but she knew it wasn't going to be that easy. It would've been nice, but something wrong was deeply rooted in Langdon and it was going to take more than herself to fix it.

"I think you should know something about Langdon before you meet him. He's been able to read my mind every time I've talked to him. It's a bit annoying, really, but he wants control of the conversation. I don't know if he'll be able to do it to you, but . . . just in case. Go with it. Don't let it throw you, because that's what he wants."

"And what if I can't do that?"

"Well . . . you won't be alone. I'm gonna go with you. I don't exactly trust him."

"The same way you didn't trust Mallory?"

"No, in a different way. I can honestly say I don't think he means either one of us harm, not really. You because he doesn't know what would happen if he hurt you, and me because . . . because of what happened to him."

"What happened to him?"

"The person he cared about most was taken from him. She was the closest thing he had to a mother and she was killed. So . . . I hope that means he wouldn't do the same thing to you because he knows what that feels like and wouldn't want you to go through that."

She was surprised at how fast Michael was willing to change his mind when he realized that her safety wasn't guaranteed. She was hoping, though, that Langdon and Michael had a few traits that remained the same. She knew that Michael had taken to her so well because she was kind to him. Maybe Langdon would eventually be the same and see that he didn't need to be suspicious of her, that he would take to her as well.

* * *

The decision Michael had made was the reason they were sneaking into the Murder House again. They'd waited until traffic was pretty much nonexistent and made their move.

"He may or may not be in the basement," Elizabeth said. "And he may or may not be naked."

Michael stopped in his tracks. "What? Why would he be naked?"

Elizabeth grinned at his reaction. "Um . . . you'd have to ask him that. But that's how I found him the first time. He was doing something I never want you to do, but I have no idea why he was naked doing it."

"What was he doing?"

"Some kind of ritual thing to try and communicate with . . . with his father."

"Oh."

"Yeah, just . . . it's weird, okay. His relationship with the devil is completely different than yours, I think. I hope. I don't know. But it was definitely a unique first impression."

"And here I was worried about seeing you without your pants on," he quipped. Then more seriously, "What if he decides he doesn't care if he hurts us?"

"Then we'll leave and we'll know not to come back. Okay?"

"Okay."

Elizabeth knew something was off as soon as they stepped inside the house. The atmosphere was different than it normally was – still oppressive, but in a different way. She didn't know how to explain it, but it was as if the house was so silent it was deafening.

"Langdon?" she called out, mostly just to be polite and announce their presence out loud. What with his abilities and all, he probably already knew they were there and what they were there for.

She didn't receive an answer, but she really wasn't expecting one. He hadn't responded the last time either; he'd just waited until she'd found him on her own.

He wasn't in the kitchen, but that didn't mean he was automatically in the basement either. When she looked down the basement stairway, she didn't see any flickering light so that meant there were no candles lit, and there wasn't any chanting, so she hoped that meant he wasn't in the middle of anything . . . weird.

"Langdon?"

"Maybe he's not here," Michael said. "Or maybe he's sleeping."

Elizabeth wasn't sure where he was, but she really didn't want to go into the dark basement. She had her phone this time, so she could use the flashlight on it, but she still didn't want to go in the basement – not if she was going to find more dead animals. She probably would, though, because he hadn't come to her for food. Unless, of course, he'd found another source.

"He's upstairs."

Elizabeth knew it was Ben who had said that, but it still startled her because he'd just appeared behind them suddenly. She and Michael both spun around quickly to face the new arrival.

"Does he know we're here?"

"Yes. I don't believe he wants visitors right now," Ben said. "But . . . he may need them. You were right when you told him that him staying here alone isn't healthy. People need other people, and despite what he is he's still a person with human needs. I just don't think he understands that."

"Should I go up alone?" she asked.

Ben nodded. "For now."

She looked at Michael and he nodded, so she made her way to the stairs and up them. She wasn't sure what she was expecting to find, but she went to the only room that made sense to her – Tate's old room – and found Langdon there, seated on the bed.

He looked about the same as he had last time – still all in black, but not expensive clothes like the first time, and he was still thin, maybe getting thinner. She really couldn't tell.

He looked her way as she entered the room, but he didn't say anything. She guessed that meant she would have to talk first.

"Ben said you needed company."

"Well, he was wrong. I don't need anything."

Elizabeth noticed that there was no inflection in his tone. He just said what he said, no emotion at all.

"What do you want from me now?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"I'm sure that's not true." Langdon stood up then and Elizabeth noticed that it seemed to take some effort on his part to move. "People are always wanting something from me."

"Michael is downstairs. He wants to meet you."

"Ah, so you told him about me."

She shrugged. "I kind of had to. His . . . father told him I'd been lying to him. I hadn't been, but I decided to tell him everything I'd been keeping from him. He wanted to know, and I wasn't going to let something like that come between us."

Something flashed in Langdon's eyes, but she didn't know what it was.

"Of course you weren't."

He was right in front of her now and reaching for her wounded arm. Even though she had a long-sleeved shirt on, the bandage was very much noticeable because it was sticking out the end of it.

"What happened to your arm?"

"I, uh –" Why was he asking? Couldn't he just tell? "I made someone angry."

"Michael lost control."

The way Langdon spoke made her think that Langdon was just assuming that was what had happened. It made her wonder why he hadn't just dug through her mind.

"Michael didn't hurt me – he wouldn't hurt me. His father did."

Another flash of emotion through Langdon's eyes; this time she could tell it was confusion. Why was he being so expressive all of a sudden?

"You were physically attacked."

"Obviously . . . why didn't you know that? You always know everything that's going through my mind when I'm around you."

He turned from her then, but he answered her nonetheless. "Let me just say that I may have been overexerting myself since I last spoke to you."

That made sense. His abilities were tied to his own strength, and he didn't appear very strong at the moment. It was nice to know he had a weakness at least. This was probably why Ben had said Langdon didn't want visitors – this was exposing that weakness.

"Do you feel up to meeting him? I know you said you were worried about –"

"I never said I was worried. I said I didn't know what would happen if we met each other. I still don't. Seeing as he's already here, and already knows about me . . ."

Elizabeth nodded. "I'll go get him."

She left the room, not really understanding what had just happened exactly. It seemed as if Langdon was losing his strength little by little. Was it really due to him overexerting himself or was it something else altogether? What if it was like _Back to the Future_ , and she had changed the timeline so much that he was beginning to fade away, but instead of him fading his powers were.

She would have to figure that out later. Right then she wanted to get Michael's and Langdon's first meeting over with; she was interested in how it would go.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Michael had waited downstairs like Elizabeth had asked him to, and even though he and Ben didn't talk too much while he was waiting, he still appreciated that Ben hadn't just disappeared after Elizabeth had gone upstairs.

She was gone for about ten minutes, and then she appeared at the top of the stairs and gestured for him to come to her. He assumed that meant he was about to meet . . . well . . . himself – or a version of himself.

He was actually kind of nervous as he made his way up the stairs, and he felt only slightly better when Elizabeth sent him a smile of reassurance.

"It's going to be okay. He's . . . kind of in a weird mood, though. I don't know how to take him, exactly, because he's a lot different from you, but he's agreed to meet you."

Michael nodded and followed her to Tate's old room. He hesitated before stepping inside, though, because he remembered that Tate hadn't appreciated his being there the first time.

Elizabeth just strolled on into the room. She always seemed so sure of herself, never seemed afraid of anything, even though Michael knew that wasn't the case. She'd even admitted to being terrified just a few short days ago, but he wouldn't have known just by looking at her.

Once he was inside the room, his eyes focused on Langdon. Michael was surprised at what Langdon looked like. The long blond hair, the blue eyes that Michael knew matched the color of his own but also looked nothing like his own by way of emotion. In fact, the only thing Michael could see in Langdon's eyes was sadness, and even that was only slight – there was a sort of lifelessness there that Michael didn't have, or at least he didn't think he did.

Now that he was there, he didn't know what to say. To be fair, Langdon didn't seem to know what to say either. They just stared at each other for a good while.

Michael realized then what Elizabeth had meant about he and Langdon being different. Even though they looked the same – and even that was being used in a loose way, because Michael barely recognized himself – they were very different. There was a coldness about Langdon that Michael didn't like, didn't ever want to have in himself.

"This is going well," Elizabeth said after what seemed like a long time because of the silence. "One of you should say something before the world actually does end."

The right side of Langdon's mouth twitched as if he were fighting back a small smile or grin or smirk or whatever equivalent of amusement matched Langdon. Michael, however, didn't know whether or not he should be amused by what Miss Elizabeth had said considering what Langdon had done.

"I'm assuming we don't have to introduce ourselves," Langdon said. Even his voice was cold and . . . almost empty. "What is it that you want?"

Michael found himself almost shrinking into himself. He didn't like Langdon; he'd only been in the room with him for about two minutes, and he already knew that. Langdon was intimidating in a way that Michael didn't think he'd ever be. Even though he didn't seem to be at his best or healthiest, Langdon still held himself confidently. It was a little overwhelming for Michael.

"Michael was hoping you would help him . . . avoid ending the world. Basically, he needs to know what happened to you to make you . . . you, so that he won't become you."

Langdon looked from Michael to Elizabeth and back again.

"Is that what you wanted?"

"I don't understand why you –"

"You wouldn't!"

His voice was no longer empty and neither were his eyes. There was an almost electric fire raging there now. Langdon wasn't yelling or showing any other sign of anger, but Michael knew that was what he was feeling.

"So why did you?"

"Hm. Wouldn't you burn the world down if someone took your Miss Elizabeth?"

Michael's insides twisted at the thought of something happening to Elizabeth, something that took her away from him. He knew that he would feel anger – complete and overwhelming anger – if someone hurt her.

"At any rate, you probably won't ever have to worry about that. Your circumstances are completely different from mine. Have been since she took you in."

There was still a strange harshness to Langdon's voice that Michael didn't understand. It appeared Langdon didn't like Michael either. It was ridiculous; they shouldn't dislike each other, not if Michael wanted Langdon's help.

"I'm sorry you lost . . . whoever you lost. And I'm sorry you didn't have Elizabeth to help you when you were younger, but she's willing to help you now if you'd just let her."

"Right. Because she's such a good person."

Michael didn't like the way Langdon had said that, as if he were questioning Elizabeth's character.

"She is good. I'm sorry you don't understand that."

Michael knew that Langdon was broken somehow, broken in the way he himself would've been had he been able to stay with his gramma, if she'd killed herself as she'd done in Langdon's world. He was so broken he couldn't see goodness in others, not real goodness – goodness that came with no ulterior motives.

He knew then that Langdon probably wasn't going to be much help, not if he couldn't let himself trust them.

* * *

To say that watching Michael and Langdon interact with each other was weird would be an understatement. They were so different. Where Michael was all soft edges and childlike curiosity, Langdon was hard and unmoving. She wouldn't say uncaring, because Michael had definitely pulled some type of emotion from him, even if it did appear to be a negative one.

Elizabeth understood it even if Michael didn't seem to. Michael had what Langdon didn't: the person he cared most about. Langdon was probably reminded of that by them both being there and by Michael openly showing how much he cared and how highly he thought of her.

She turned to Michael then. "Are we done? You met him . . ."

"Almost," he answered, taking a step towards Langdon. "Ben was right. You shouldn't be alone. I don't . . . I don't know exactly what it's like to be alone like you are now because I've never really been alone. But I do know what it's like to be lonely. I know what that darkness can be like. That'll only go away if you let people in. That's . . . that's what has helped me."

Elizabeth put her hand on his wrist and grasped it lightly. She knew he was talking about her. She was just one person, but she was glad she'd been able to help even just a little.

"If you decide you want my help, you know where to find me," she said. "We'll leave you alone now."

* * *

Langdon watched as Elizabeth and Michael – the younger version of him that didn't remind him of himself at all – walked out of the room. He very much wanted to call out for them to wait, because he knew they were right. He was lonely and he'd never done too well on his own. He knew that, and yet . . . he couldn't make himself ask them to stay . . . ask her to stay.

He could see why Michael was so loyal to Elizabeth. She was taking care of Michael and she was strong-willed. She never seemed cowed by him, even when they'd first met not that many weeks ago.

He'd known about Elizabeth almost from the time he'd woken up there in that house, in that time period, or dimension. Even he wasn't sure how that worked since he was cut off from his father.

He remembered leaving his world. Cordelia had died; had activated Mallory as the new Supreme, and then Mallory had done her magic and ended up here. Langdon killed the old red-headed witch before making his way to the bathtub Mallory had used for her spell. As he'd told Elizabeth, there had been tell-tale signs of which spell had been used, and he was able to work through that to get back as well.

His main priority had been to get Mallory and kill her, which he'd done eventually, but when he'd woken up in his old house, he'd been quite confused. He'd been even more confused when he'd tried to leave. He hadn't had a problem getting out of the house, but the moment he'd stepped out on the porch was the same moment Michael had been saved by Elizabeth. He'd seen her jogging and paying attention to her surroundings. Michael had not been, and so she'd had to pull him back.

Langdon hadn't been close enough to hear, but he had seen Michael burst into tears. He'd also seen Elizabeth trying to comfort him. At that point, he'd gone back inside. He couldn't leave; he still had a job to do. He could wait.

So he'd waited. He'd seen Mallory the next day, but hadn't had an opportunity to do anything because she was with Constance and because Michael and Elizabeth had come over that day. Michael had left with Elizabeth, and he'd had some of his things with him. That was how Langdon knew Michael wouldn't be going home.

He'd watched for several weeks before making his move against Mallory, who had taken up residence with Constance. He'd watched Michael and Elizabeth. Michael had gone through a phase of not wanting Elizabeth to go anywhere without him; he'd even gone to work with her. He was out of that now . . . mostly. But if Michael was anything like Langdon had been, he still didn't want to be away from her for long and would start to worry if she was gone longer than expected.

So much had happened since he'd arrived, the most important of which was that he could no longer communicate with his father. The first time he'd actually tried to communicate properly was the day before he'd met Elizabeth. He'd done the blood ritual and had stayed in place for hours, long enough for his knees to protest the time spent on them, and there had been nothing. He'd felt the lack of his father's presence since arriving in the past, but he hadn't felt it as acutely as when he'd tried reaching out to find nothing there.

He'd felt Elizabeth's goodness that first night, felt it and didn't understand it. She'd felt the need to run from him at first, but she'd stood up to him anyway. She'd felt genuine sorrow for what he'd been through even though she hadn't agreed with the life he'd taken when he'd killed Mallory. He'd felt her love and concern, not for him but for the boy that had been upstairs. It was whole and pure and he didn't understand that either.

He couldn't feel much of anything now; his powers had faded that much. He was cut off from his father, so the power he got from him was no longer available to him. He could still do the things that Michael could probably do. Make things float or throw things across the room with his mind when he was mad. He could still burn people to ashes, something Michael probably didn't know how to control yet.

The second time Elizabeth had come over was to find out more about the presence that had taken residency in her house. In his world, the winged creature would have been his father; in this one, it was Michael's father. Michael wasn't as appreciative of its presence as Langdon would've been, but why would he be? He had Elizabeth. It seemed to be enough for Michael, for now.

Being away from his father was not working for Langdon, however, and losing his powers wasn't working for him either. He couldn't get home. If he'd just killed Mallory and gone home, he probably would've been fine. But no, he'd convinced himself to stay and see exactly what was going to happen with the Elizabeth and Michael situation.

It was probably the worst decision he could've made.

* * *

"So, what do we do now?" Michael asked. "He doesn't want our help, and he's not going to help us because he doesn't trust us."

"I have a feeling he doesn't trust anyone," Elizabeth answered.

They were on their way back to their house now, talking quietly because it was the middle of the night.

"How did he become that way?"

"Probably a lot of reasons he became that way, but from what I've learned it was definitely losing who he came to know as his mother that tipped the scales."

"I . . . think I can understand that. I don't know what I would do if you were taken from me."

"I think you'd . . . not destroy the world. I mean, you've known goodness and kindness. I don't think he ever did, or not anything genuine."

Elizabeth couldn't help but remember what Langdon had said about someone always wanting something from him. She'd told him she didn't want anything, but that wasn't exactly true. She did want his help making sure Michael didn't become Langdon in any way. But she was willing to help him too, if he would let her – it didn't look like he would.

"Anyway, you can't help someone who won't let you help them," she said. "We offered, so if he won't let us, then that's on him. Okay?"

By that time, they had reached the house. They went about their usual routine of Elizabeth reading to him and then going to bed. They didn't have a long talk about anything that night; they'd pretty much talked about everything on the walk home.

Elizabeth had a hard time sleeping, though, because of what had happened that night and because of Michael's question of how Langdon had ended up the way he had. She'd been honest enough when she'd said she thought it had all started with the losing of his mother-figure, but she wondered what else had caused him to become the way he was.

* * *

Okay, the Langdon section took me so long to write. He is always hard for me, but the POV section was very difficult!


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

When Elizabeth finally got to sleep that night, she began to dream. It should have been called a nightmare, since the Devil was a prominent figure there, but all they did was talk. They were in her room and he was standing over the foot of her bed. He didn't look like the winged creature she knew him to be in her real life.

In fact, he looked a lot like Michael – her Michael, not Langdon – and it had thrown her off at first. Even as she was dreaming, though, she had a distinct feeling that the Devil was actually in her room, standing over her bed. She could feel him there; it was the only reason she knew he wasn't actually Michael.

Maybe she wasn't even dreaming. Maybe her mind was being manipulated so they could talk. It just seemed like something the Devil would do.

"Hello, Elizabeth."

She didn't know if she should respond or not. Telling him to get out of her house was one thing. Making actual conversation was another.

Despite her doubt, she did speak. "Don't look like him. Look like anyone but him."

"It will make it easier for you to talk to me?"

"Yes."

Right in front of her, the image of Michael began to shimmer into something else, something not familiar to her this time: A man with short black hair and facial hair, brown eyes with a glint to them.

"So?" he said, spreading out his arms and turning around. "Better?"

"I . . . guess. What do you want?"

"I'm just wondering why you're trying to stop me from reaching Michael. All I want is a better world."

"Oh, really. By destroying this one. Michael told me what you said."

"What am I doing that God has not?" The glint in his eyes turned fiery – literally, there was a yellow tint in his eyes now. "He sent a flood to destroy the world He so lovingly created just so He could start again."

"He did it to try and get rid of evil. You want evil to reign supreme."

"When have I ever said that? I didn't say that to Michael. That's not my intention."

"Yes, it is. You hide it behind pretty words, but that's exactly what you want."

"I want humans to be who they are without any fear of persecution, without them having to feel shame for what they desire. Michael can create a world like that. Why would you stand in his way?"

"Because that kind of world can't exist. Not really."

She felt a sense of déjà vu. She'd had almost this exact conversation with Langdon. At least she knew where he'd gotten his argument from.

Suddenly the wounds on her arm, the ones she hadn't really even been bothered by since they'd been taken care of, felt like they were on fire and she brought the limb up to cradle in her other arm. Where the bandage was, a stain began to appear. Her wounds were bleeding again.

"If I can do that without even touching you, what makes you so sure I can't create what you are certain can never be?"

The pain was unbearable, but it wasn't until she looked up that she began to scream. The _thing_ had become Michael again, or had taken the form of him, only it wasn't Michael. His face was pale and ashy and it was the face that Mallory had shown her, and she couldn't not scream.

* * *

Elizabeth screaming was what woke Michael up, not that he had been sleeping peacefully to begin with. There was no soft coming in to wakefulness, though, not like he normally did. No, this was him up and out of bed as soon as his eyes snapped open. This was him rushing to his closed door only to find that it was locked even though he knew Miss Elizabeth would never lock him in his room. She trusted him not to hurt her and didn't need that precaution to feel that way.

He yanked and yanked for over a minute but it wasn't until he got frustrated enough to just break the door knob with his mind that he was able to get out of his room. He ran down the hallway only to find that Elizabeth's door was locked too. This time he didn't even have to try to get the door open. He was worried enough that he was able to just think of the door flinging open and it did.

Inside the room, Elizabeth was thrashing around in her bed – that was the first thing he noticed. The second was the shadow on the wall above her bed – the winged one, the one that was supposed to be his father. He didn't know what was happening, but he did know that it being there was the cause of Elizabeth's screaming.

The creature, the devil, Satan, whatever it was seemed to turn its attention from Elizabeth long enough to realize that Michael was in the room, and then it was taking flight straight at him. Michael braced himself, not knowing what it was going to do, but it just flew by him, pushed him out of the way so that Michael slammed back into the wall. It didn't hurt, and once he was back on his feet properly, he rushed to Elizabeth's bed.

She had woken up on her own and was in the middle of sitting up. She was holding her injured arm, cradling it against her stomach, and Michael realized that the bandage was soaked in blood.

"Elizabeth . . ." he said gently, not wanting to startle her.

"Michael," she said, though she didn't seem to really be talking to him.

He continued staring at her arm and the blood that was seeping out of the bandage and he couldn't help the fury that took hold of him. That thing had hurt her again. They'd been doing what he'd wanted, Michael had thought. There hadn't been any other occurrences since the first time she'd been hurt, so they couldn't have been doing anything wrong. They would've known; that thing would've told them.

"What happened? You're bleeding again."

Elizabeth jerked away when he reached for her arm and he didn't understand her reaction. She'd never not let him touch her before.

"Elizabeth?"

"Give me a minute. I –"

"He was here again. He hurt you."

She didn't say anything. She just looked at him. She seemed to be searching for something, but he didn't know what. She wasn't acting like herself.

"I . . . you need to let me clean your wounds again. At least change your bandage. It's all ruined."

Whatever she'd been looking for, she'd obviously found it because she allowed him to help her out of bed and to the bathroom.

"What happened?" he asked again, hoping she would answer this time.

"He looked like you," she said as she sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

"What?"

"He looked like you. He . . . used your face."

At least that explained why she'd jerked away from her earlier. She seemed fine now, though, as he unwrapped her arm and began tending to it.

"What did he want?"

"I think he wanted me on his side," Elizabeth said. "I think he knows that . . . that I hold some kind of sway over you because, well, you know, and that as long as I don't want you to do something you're probably not going to. He said I'm standing in your way."

As Michael was fixing up Elizabeth's arm again – there were no new wounds, just reopened old ones – he couldn't help but think that he didn't mind her being in his way. There was no way he wanted to end up like Langdon, who couldn't let anyone in or trust anyone. That was no way to live.

* * *

Even though Elizabeth and Michael didn't get much sleep after the incident that was her reopening her wounds, she still decided to go jogging – mostly because she had been neglecting that. In hindsight, it wasn't the best idea because she wasn't feeling great. Her arm was still hurting – worse than it originally had been.

She didn't jog for as long as she normally did, but that was okay. On the way back home, just as she was passing by the Murder House, she almost stumbled over herself. Langdon was out on the front porch, hidden in the shadows by the overhang, but he was still standing there nonetheless.

What was he doing? No one was supposed to be living there and it probably wasn't a good idea to be seen. He seemed to have been waiting for her to go by, though, because he gestured for her to come to him.

That was weird. He'd never done that before. He'd never seemed interested in interacting with her or anyone else, but there he was. She went to him, of course. She didn't trust him, but he'd never done anything to her personally so she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Once she reached him, she said, "What are you doing outside? Someone could see you."

One side of his mouth twitched, but he didn't smile. "No one can see me. Not if I don't want them to."

"That means you wanted me to. What do you want?"

He gestured to the front door. "You should come back tonight. Bring . . . him . . . with you."

"Please?"

The look he gave her then almost made her laugh. It made her think that he wasn't used to using the magic words.

"Why do you want us to come back? Why don't you just come to my house? If you were waiting for a formal invitation, I just gave you one."

"Why? Why would you invite me to your house? I know you can't stand me."

"If I couldn't stand you, I wouldn't be inviting you over, Langdon." If she were talking to Michael, she would've reached out to touch his arm or something, but this wasn't Michael, and Langdon probably wouldn't receive it well if she touched him at all. "You obviously want to talk about something, and you never did take me up on that offer for food. We can have dinner and talk after."

Langdon took his time answering her. She actually started to think that she wouldn't be getting one. But then . . . "I don't understand."

"What?"

"You. I don't understand you. You're helping Michael and you don't want anything in return. And you're willing to help me, also without wanting anything in return. You know what I am and what I've done, and yet you're here talking to me like . . ."

"Like you're a person?" She huffed out a laugh, but there wasn't any humor in it. "You are a person. Or at least you started out that way. You started out just like Michael and . . . I think that you could've gone a completely different way if . . . if you hadn't had to go through whatever you went through because I didn't find you . . . where you came from."

Langdon nodded slowly. "I think you're right. But it is what it is and I can't change what I am. Know that and understand it before you decide to invite me in."

Elizabeth didn't say it out loud – and she was glad he could no longer read her mind – but she thought he had already changed a little. He was warning her against him and he wasn't being arrogant, not like he had when she'd first met him.

He'd also changed in that he seemed to care about what she thought of him now – before he wouldn't have cared less what she thought

Taking a chance that she wouldn't have just seconds ago, she reached her hand out and let it brush against his.

"Come with me, Langdon."

He stared down at her hand and she saw his whole body stiffen as if ready to reject her offer, but then he slowly turned his hand so his palm faced hers. He let her take his hand and lead him off the porch.

That was the first step accomplished.


	18. Chapter 18

Okay, it has been a WHILE since I've updated this, but it's been giving me SO MUCH TROUBLE. I blame it on Langdon!

Chapter Eighteen

Michael was playing a video game when Elizabeth got back from her jog. He paused the game when he realized that she wasn't alone, that she had somehow convinced Langdon to come with her.

To say he was surprised would've been an understatement. Just yesterday Langdon had seemed to want nothing to do with them.

"What's going on?"

"Langdon has agreed to have dinner with us."

"Oh."

"Right."

Michael watched as Elizabeth gestured for Langdon to have a seat. He did, but only after taking in the room. Langdon sat in the arm chair rather than taking a seat on the sofa with Michael.

"We weren't expecting anyone else tonight, so . . . is spaghetti okay?"

"It's fine."

"Good. Michael, when we start, will you help make a salad?"

"Of course."

Elizabeth smiled and sat beside him. Michael resumed his game and tried to ignore Langdon. He didn't mind the guy being there, but Michael still felt a little intimidated by him and didn't understand how he himself could ever come to be Langdon. He seemed so confident and Michael knew _he_ wasn't. Langdon appeared to need nothing from anyone while Michael liked to be around Elizabeth as much as possible, needed to be around her to feel any kind of peace.

He knew that wasn't a healthy way to be, but there it was. She took care of him, so why wouldn't he want to be around her?

"You help cook dinner?" Langdon asked him.

"I don't really cook," he answered, "but I help with cutting up vegetables and fruit when I can."

"Hm."

Michael was going to assume that meant Langdon had never done any of that.

"What made you change your mind between yesterday and today?"

Langdon looked at him and tilted his head to the side, as if deciding whether or not he wanted to answer. He eventually did.

"I need to speak with both of you about something. I have a proposition for you."

Elizabeth straightened up in her seat, so Michael knew whatever was about to be said she thought it would be important. He paused his game again.

"What type of proposition?"

"I may be in need of your help." Then Langdon looked at Michael. "Mostly your help."

"With what?"

"I want to go home. Back to my own time period, or dimension, however that works, but I can't."

"Why not?" Michael asked. "You seemed to have had no problem getting here."

Langdon fell silent then, so Michael didn't know what to think.

"You're not strong enough," Elizabeth said quietly. "Are you?"

There was no judgment in her voice; she actually sounded sympathetic.

"You said you've been overexerting yourself. What you really meant is that the longer you stay here, the weaker your powers become. Right?"

Langdon gave a very curt nod. It appeared to have hurt him to admit anything about him was weak.

"Well, what do you need me for? I don't know how to send you back," Michael said.

"Not yet," Landon agreed. "But here's the proposition. I help you with whatever it is you need help with – how to avoid becoming me, how to control your powers, whatever it is – and you help me get home."

"You'd rather be there than here? Isn't your world destroyed?" Elizabeth asked.

"Not all of it. I created a place were certain people can survive. It's a sanctuary. It has enough resources to last a decade, enough for people to be able to use the land again. And yes, I would rather be there. At least I understand that world."

"You could come to understand this one."

"There is already one Michael Langdon in this world; you don't need another one."

* * *

Dinner was not as awkward as Elizabeth had thought it would be. It basically just consisted of Langdon talking about his life because she'd asked him to start at the beginning. She was sure he didn't tell them everything, but she found out that his life had basically been the same as Michael's had been for the first four years. She already knew that the main difference – and what had caused the shift – was that in Langdon's timeline, his grandmother had killed herself, and in Michael's she had chosen to kick him out of the house. She had helped him, and now here they were.

"I was alone for months," Langdon said. "In that house. My parents were there, my grandmother was there. Ben was the only one who would have anything to do with me, until he realized he didn't want that anymore. He thought he could help me be better, and when he couldn't . . . he just stopped trying."

Elizabeth didn't know Ben all that well, but he had been the first one to appear to them when she and Michael had gone to the Murder House. In fact, aside from Tate showing up to yell at Michael, Ben was the only one who had appeared to them at all.

That was when Langdon brought up someone named Ms. Mead. In his timeline, she had found him and not Elizabeth. She had taken him in, taken him to her house, and had become a sort of mother to him. She'd fed him, clothed him, taken care of him.

"Is she . . . the one – the one you lost?" Elizabeth asked.

"The one that was taken from me, yes."

Elizabeth noticed that Langdon's face had softened when he'd started talking about Ms. Mead.

"She was the only person who has ever made me feel safe or happy."

"She made you feel loved," Michael said.

Langdon didn't agree vocally, but he nodded his head once.

"How old were you when she found you?" Elizabeth asked.

"Maybe a little older than he is now," Langdon answered and gestured at Michael. "I stayed with her for months, until another magic user found me. I was taught things I didn't think possible, which is why I know I can help you get strong enough to send me back."

"What kind of things?" Michael asked. "I barely know how I do what I can do now."

"I remember when I was that way. A lot of it is because you are emotional. I was emotional."

If what Langdon said was true, Elizabeth wondered how long it had taken him to shut his emotions out. It had to have been after his Ms. Mead had been killed or it wouldn't have bothered him as much as it had.

Elizabeth was intrigued by the fact that there was an actual school of magic. Langdon mentioned it because Michael asked about who had taught Langdon magic.

They continued talking all through dinner. Elizabeth noticed that more life seemed to come into Langdon after he ate. It made sense, and she wondered if he noticed it himself.

After dinner, Langdon mentioned that telekinesis was one of the things Michael needed to learn how to do. Of course, Michael already knew he could move things with his mind, but he needed to learn how to control it.

Elizabeth had seen him actually control that ability only once, and that had been when he'd helped her clean up after the entity had messed up her kitchen. The other times he had just been reacting to things: the Jenga blocks falling and him catching them before they'd hit the ground, or tossing his cars off the shelf because they wouldn't stay the way he wanted them to. He'd broken the lock on his door once, but that was only because he'd heard her screaming and had been scared.

"Well, how do we help him with that?"

The look Langdon gave her was a strange one. There had been a very brief expression of surprise, as if he hadn't thought she would include him in the process.

"We?"

"Well, I can't help him learn magic or whatever this is. I don't have powers. I wouldn't even know where to start."

Michael nodded, and Langdon's eyebrows shot up, as if conceding that point.

"Fine. It has to do with concentration. With wanting something so much, you make it happen. When would you like to start?"

Elizabeth looked at Michael. It was up to him; he was the one who would have to try and make things move with his mind.

"Tonight?"

Langdon, who was looking ten times better than he had before having dinner with them, seemed to take that in stride. There was still caution in his eyes, but he wasn't as hyper aware of everything around him as he normally was. He felt at least a small amount of peace being there.

"Let's try not to break anything," she said. "Please."

* * *

After an hour of practicing, Michael had managed to move the couch across the floor in the living room, and had even managed to make the chairs and kitchen table float. He didn't damage anything; he'd been able to put everything back in its proper place. Langdon hadn't had much of a reaction, but Elizabeth had done a lot of smiling as he'd continued learning control.

"So . . . how is he doing?" Elizabeth asked. "I can't really tell by your lack of expression."

"He has control in a controlled environment. We will practice more tomorrow."

It wasn't until Langdon began to go to the front door to go out of it that Michael realized that Elizabeth hadn't meant for him to leave at all. She grabbed his hand, which made Langdon look down where they were joined.

"You don't have to go back to that house. It's – it's really not healthy to make yourself stay in a place where – where you don't think you're wanted."

Michael watched as Langdon's face became closed off and as he snatched his hand back.

"I'm so sure I'm wanted here," he said, darkness in his voice.

Langdon didn't give Elizabeth or Michael time to come up with a response. He was out of the front door and off the steps faster than either of them could speak.

Michael didn't understand. Elizabeth wanted to help Langdon, so why wouldn't he let her? It wasn't even that Michael wanted Langdon there, because truth be told he didn't really feel comfortable around him at all because Michael couldn't see any of himself in Langdon, he really couldn't. He still didn't know how Langdon became the way he did, even though he now knew the person Langdon had loved the most had been taken from him.

"Why wouldn't he stay?"

Elizabeth looked at him, and Michael was shocked that her eyes were shining with tears.

"I think he's scared to."

"Scared? Why? Of what?"

"Letting anybody close, and he would get close to us if he stayed here. If we let him stay, let him know it was okay to stay, he would get close to us."

Michael didn't know what to say to that, so he just continued to practice moving things with his mind. He continued until he felt a drain in himself that hadn't been there before. There was a slight pain in his head as liquid began falling from his nose – it had begun to bleed.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

She'd already noticed and was moving toward him.

"Okay, that's enough for tonight. Tilt your head back, I'm going to go get a tissue."

There was a limit to what he could do, apparently, which was probably a good thing.

Once Elizabeth came back and began to make sure his nose stopped bleeding, which it did, he became even more confused as to why Langdon wouldn't want someone around to help him with things like this.

Langdon was alone, and Michael didn't understand why he would want it that way.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Langdon continued helping Michael with his powers over the next week. He also continued to keep Elizabeth at a distance, which he knew would hurt her feelings, but he really didn't need her trying to get him to stay again. He might do something stupid, like actually do it.

Each day Langdon practiced with Michael was a day that Michael got better. Langdon pushed him until his nose bled and then would let him rest. He could tell Elizabeth didn't like it, like that he was tiring Michael out, but it was making him stronger even if she didn't realize it.

Langdon could also tell that the entity he'd seen in Elizabeth's mind not so long ago was back and making itself known. It didn't do anything; it actually seemed curious as to what Langdon was teaching Michael. He didn't really understand it because if the entity really was Michael's father like it had been Langdon's in his dimension, it was definitely taking more of an active role in Michael's life.

To be fair, Langdon had had other people to lead him to his destiny; all Michael wanted was to be safe and happy with Elizabeth.

Langdon had been helping Michael for a whole week when things turned on a head. Michael had learned endurance fairly quickly. He could move things around more quickly or make them float for longer periods of time. He still eventually got tired, and his nose inevitably bled, but Langdon knew that was normal. His had done the same before he'd gotten older, stronger.

On this particular day Langdon continued to press even after Michael's nose began to bleed, even after Michael's head began to hurt. Elizabeth was there with them and she stayed silent for as long as she could.

It wasn't until Michael fell to his knees that she stepped forward.

"That's enough. He's had enough."

"I'm fine," Michael said from the floor.

"Your nose is bleeding."

"It's just growing pains," Langdon said, because that's technically what they were. Michael was stretching himself thin, but in the end, it would make him better.

Michael stood back up and began again. Langdon had taught him how to use his hands to focus his ability. Langdon was graceful, had learned a while back, but Michael was still a little clumsy about it.

Langdon watched as Michael made pretty much everything in the living room float. Langdon knew he could continue for about a minute before he'd have to put everything back down.

That wasn't what happened, however.

What happened was that whatever entity it was the was haunting that house converged around Michael, and the boy went tense and his eyes became ice blue. The entity was trying to take Michael over, and it was winning.

Elizabeth seemed to know that because she began to step forward. Langdon was the one that reached for her this time; he grabbed her wrist and wouldn't let go.

"He will hurt you this way. He's not in control."

Elizabeth spun around and Langdon noticed the fire in her eyes.

"He is not you. I can bring him back."

Langdon tightened his grip on her wrist briefly, her words affecting him in a way he wasn't expecting, but let her go anyway. If she wanted to put herself in harm's way, that was her decision. What did he care?

* * *

When Elizabeth reached Michael, she noticed that he was trembling, and he had the same look on his face now that he had when he'd burned Mallory's body to ash – only this time his eyes were no longer their normal color. They were not black as Langdon's had been when she'd met him; they were ice blue, and she could tell Michael was not the one in the driver's seat. Langdon had been right; Michael wasn't in control.

He was, however, still in there, and no matter who was at the wheel . . . Michael would not want her hurt.

The closer she got to him, though, the more energy she felt in the air – negative energy. Obviously, the entity knew she could reach him; he always responded to her. When she reached out to touch his arm, though, he grabbed her instead, grasping her arm right over the bandage that was covering the claw marks there.

She bit back a scream even though it hurt, and his grip became tighter. She could pretty much feel the wounds opening back up. If they kept doing that, they were probably going to get infected.

"Michael!"

Her other arm was grabbed by Langdon, and she was suddenly caught in the middle of them. His grip was almost as tight, but her other arm wasn't wounded so it didn't hurt. He tried to yank her away, and a low growl began to fill the space in the room.

Langdon gave one more tug, and Elizabeth's arm was ripped away from Michael's tight grip. She ended up being pulled up right against Langdon, who quickly pushed her away to hold her at arm's length.

"I told you he would hurt you."

"That is not Michael."

"No, because I believe – I know – Michael wouldn't hurt you. But that thing will. You are in the way of what it wants."

Suddenly everything that had been floating pretty much crashed to the ground, the noise startling Elizabeth a bit, and Michael fell to his knees once again. He was still trembling, but he was looking up at them now with his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, and he had tears streaming from them.

She tried to go to him again, but Langdon wouldn't let her go. She literally had to push herself away.

"Michael?" she called out as she approached the boy on the floor.

He didn't say anything. He just lurched up and wrapped his arms around her legs. She instinctively brought her hands up to latch onto his hair, realizing too late that she would get blood in it if she did that. She held his head against her stomach anyway, because she knew he needed her to.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually.

"I know. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't you."

She continued holding him, but she knelt down to her knees too and let him adjust so his head was on her shoulder. Her right arm was hurting terribly, but she knew Michael needed her, needed to know that she wasn't afraid of him or angry with him, and she wasn't.

Langdon was there beside her, suddenly kneeling down with her. She'd heard his footsteps coming closer, but she hadn't expected him to get on the floor with her. She really didn't expect him to reach for her, either, but he did.

He pulled her injured arm towards him, wiped the blood away with his hand, and then basically cradled her arm in his left palm. He let his right hand hover briefly over her wound before placing it right on her skin.

She jerked a little because it stung, but he just held on more tightly.

"Let me," he said.

She was just about to ask him what she was supposed to be letting him do when the skin on her arm began to tingle and itch. Her arm jerked again, but this time she hadn't meant to; she'd just been surprised.

Michael, who had obviously felt her jerk away the first time, was now looking at where Langdon was holding onto her.

"What are you doing?" Michael asked, sniffling and scrunching up his nose.

"Just watch," Langdon said. "I'm not going to hurt her."

And he didn't, not at all. He was . . . he was taking her pain away.

"Langdon, are you – are you healing me?"

He didn't say anything, he just continued doing what he was doing, and she could literally feel his energy going into her arm, giving her body the power to heal itself quickly.

Langdon continued on for another ten or fifteen seconds, and then he removed his right hand from her arm. He continued holding onto her, though, and she quickly took in the fact that her skin was now flawless where the wound had been. There wasn't even a scar. Her skin was tinted from the blood having been there, but other than that, she couldn't even tell she'd ever been hurt.

"You can heal people?" Michael asked. "I can heal people?"

"I don't know if you can now," Langdon admitted. "I was older than you are now when I found out I could do it. I had to bring an animal back to life for a test I had to take."

Elizabeth turned her arm over so she could grab hold of his hand.

"Thank you," she said.

Langdon didn't say anything; he looked as if he didn't know what to say. He did, however, squeeze gently before letting her hand go.

* * *

Later that night, before Langdon took his leave, he, Elizabeth, and Michael sat around the living room. Michael hadn't wanted to leave Elizabeth's side since the incident that afternoon, so she had stayed close by.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to practice when I'm not here," Langdon said. "Not now that you've been taken over once already."

"Is it because he was practicing that he was taken over?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes and no," Langdon answered. "It happened to me a few times, too, when I was first learning. The more I used my powers, the weaker my own will became, and something would take over. I was asked to make it snow once – inside a building – and I nearly froze everyone to death when it happened. There was give and take – I would become stronger, but I wouldn't be in complete control of myself. Not when I was first learning."

"Eventually you became stronger, though?" Elizabeth asked. "You learned to not let it take over?"

"Not exactly. I learned to work with it rather than against it."

"I don't want it at all," Michael said. "Not if it's going to make me hurt someone, make me hurt Elizabeth."

"You were able to come back after she was hurt," Langdon said.

"I knew I wouldn't stop if – if I didn't come back. She would've been hurt worse."

If Elizabeth was being honest, Michael hadn't really hurt her that day and neither had the entity. The only reason she'd begun to bleed again was because her wounds had reopened when she'd been grabbed.

"I don't know what to do," Michael said. "Miss Elizabeth, tell me what to do."

"Michael, I – I can't tell you what to do here. You have to make a choice. You can continue doing this, learn how to control it, or you can stop. I'll still be here either way. Just remember that Langdon was able to heal me, which means you'll be able to do that too eventually. Your powers don't have to be bad, not if they can heal people, which means that you don't have to be bad."

"I want to learn," he said. "But I won't become that – that thing – again."

Langdon was quiet for a long while – they all were – before he got to his feet and walked toward the front door. He walked outside, but Elizabeth noticed he didn't go down the steps. Maybe he just needed fresh air or something.

She knew he would leave soon. He never stayed too late. The routine they had sit up was pretty simple. Langdon would come over for dinner – she didn't know what he did for food for the rest of the time – and then stay for a few hours to help Michael practice his telekinesis. They hadn't really tried anything else.

When Langdon hadn't come back inside after five minutes, she rubbed Michael's back a few times before standing up and going to the front door herself.

"I'll be right back."

Langdon was leaning against the post on the right side of her porch, arms crossed over his chest. She hadn't mentioned it, but he was back to wearing his expensive looking clothes. They looked better on him than the ones he'd probably borrowed from the collection of things at the Murder House; they were more him.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Being okay is a relative term." Langdon turned to her, stepped away from the post. "Physically I am fine. I just realized I don't know how much I'm going to be able to help you, help him."

Elizabeth stayed silent, waiting for him to continue but when he didn't, she prompted him by asking why.

"Because you were right when you said he's not me. He's not. He doesn't have the same motivations I did. He's not alone like I was. He won't react to things the way I did."

"What do you mean?"

"When I was learning everything, all I wanted to do was impress people, show people how powerful I was. I had people all around me telling me who I should be, who I was supposed to be, and what that meant. All I wanted to do was prove I could be what they needed me to be. Michael has none of that. All he wants is for you to be safe and happy, and he couldn't care less about what he's supposed to be. He'd give up everything if it meant staying with you. You . . . you don't care what he's supposed to be."

Elizabeth listened intently. Langdon's existence sounded lonely to her; he'd been alone even before he'd come to her world.

"Did you . . . you never had anyone that just wanted you to be a kid? Just wanted you to be Michael? Not anti-Christ extraordinaire?"

He gave her a small smile; it was sad. "Ms. Mead let me be a kid. I know she originally came for me because of who I was meant to be, but I lived with her and she grew to care for me. She still pushed me to be what I am today, though."

"Hm. You know, I can't make Michael not become what you are. I can't force anything on him. I can just teach him right from wrong and hope he makes the right decision when it comes down to it."

Langdon stepped even closer, almost too close, into her personal space. It didn't frighten her at all, but she was slightly discomforted.

"When it comes down to it, he will do what you want him to do. He loves you. What you want him to do will always be important to him. In that way we are the same, at least. We want to please the people we care about."

Langdon's voice had dropped to a softer pitch, a more intimate one. He had drawn closer to her as he'd spoken, but if his knee-jerk reaction to draw back after stopping was anything to go by, he hadn't realized it.

She watched as his throat moved when he swallowed and moved even farther away.

"I have to go." He caught her gaze with his own. "Do not let him practice when I'm not here. I don't think he will, because he won't risk hurting you again, but just to be sure, don't let him."

Elizabeth was left there on the porch. Her heart was pretty much in her throat. She had been affected by Langdon's closeness just as much as he had been.

She didn't know if that was a good thing or not. The last time Langdon had allowed himself a sense of closeness with them, he had pulled away for a while. She wondered if he would do the same thing this time.

* * *

To settle down for the night, Elizabeth and Michael watched the second Harry Potter movie. Michael ended up liking Dobby as a character. He'd liked him in the book as well, but he really liked that he could see what Dobby was supposed to look like in the movie.

They were in the middle of the third book, and Harry had just received the Firebolt for Christmas. Hermione had told Professor McGonagall because she thought Sirius Black could've sent it to him. Since Sirius was supposed to be after him, Michael thought she'd probably done the right thing.

Elizabeth had read about the Dementors a few nights back and Michael hadn't liked them at all. They reminded him of how the entity – how his father – made him feel when he threatened Elizabeth to try and get his own way. The darkness he could feel if he let himself was very much like how it was described in the book when a person was affected by a dementor.

The chapter they were reading that night, however, was about Professor Lupin trying to help Harry learn to fight off the dementors. He basically had to focus on being happy, the happiest he'd ever been, and then preform a spell to keep the dementor away.

It was a good chapter, even if it did end with Ron thinking his rat, Scabbers, had been killed by Hermione's cat, Crookshanks.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

A few days had passed since Elizabeth had been healed. Their routine hadn't been messed up at all because of what had happened before that – Michael almost being possessed – but Michael did seem more careful of what he was doing and how much of it he was doing.

Langdon didn't press him as hard, either. They would stop and take a break whenever Michael's nose began to bleed.

Langdon began to come over earlier and leave later, but Elizabeth didn't mention it at all. One night he even stayed long enough that he saw the routine she and Michael went through when they went to bed. He even stayed for a while after Elizabeth left Michael to sleep.

He was waiting for her outside Michael's room. She didn't notice him until after she'd closed the door. It startled her a bit.

"You read to him?"

"He likes it," she said and shrugged. "I mean, it's not, like, Cat In The Hat or anything. It's . . . Well, Harry Potter, so it's directed towards older kids and teens. There's a lot to learn from it. You've . . . you've never read it?"

"I don't like reading."

"Hm. Well, we're reading it together. It's just something we've done since he first started living with me."

She walked back into the living room, and Langdon followed her.

"I'm glad you stayed. There's something I need to ask you."

She sat down on the couch and gestured for Langdon to do the same. He sat down on the opposite side and turned toward her.

"Christmas is a little over a week away. I don't really celebrate it in a big way, but I am having a dinner here. We're not exchanging gifts or anything, just eating a semi big meal together. You're welcome to come. I'd like you to come."

Langdon tilted his head as he studied her.

"I haven't done anything for Christmas since my grandmother died. As a rule . . . Ms. Mead never did anything."

"Why not?"

"Religious connotations and all. She worshipped the devil."

Elizabeth's eyes widened as that information sunk in. Langdon's Ms. Mead had worshipped the thing that was now haunting her house, haunting her and Michael?

"I . . . don't really know what to say to that."

An almost playful grin spread over Langdon's lips. "Oh, have I struck you speechless?"

"Well, I mean . . . yeah. If the devil really is what's messing with me and Michael, I don't understand why anyone would worship something like that."

"In my dimension, he wasn't really an active participant until much later. He never had anyone in his way of what he wanted from me, but you are very much in the way." There was a brief pause before he began to speak again. "It wasn't until I learned how to communicate in the proper way that he even began speaking to me."

"The proper way?"

"What you walked in on the first time you met me."

"Oh. Well, of course that's the proper way. Why wouldn't it be?"

Elizabeth scoffed and shook her head. She couldn't believe the conversation she was having . . . or who she was having it with. Only a few months ago, she never would've believed anything that had been happening would ever happen, not for real.

"So will you come?"

"Won't your parents wonder why you have me here? Or Michael?

"My parents won't be here. They sent me money, of course, but they really aren't that happy with me at the moment."

"Why not?"

"They wanted to go on vacation over Thanksgiving and I wouldn't watch my sister. She's fifteen and doesn't need a babysitter, but they wanted to bring her here and, well, Michael's here, and with everything that's been happening . . . I didn't think it was a great idea to have her here."

Langdon didn't say anything to that, but he did nod.

"So? You didn't answer."

Langdon relaxed back against the couch. "You are a persistent little thing."

"I can be," she agreed. "It's just . . . I still don't think you should be alone all the time."

"I've had company every day for over a week now."

"Fine. Stay over there if you want to. Michael and I can have a very nice, big dinner all on our own."

"I didn't say I wouldn't come. I just said I haven't been lacking company lately."

"Well, good." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I swear it's like pulling teeth with you."

* * *

Over the next few days the routine with Langdon continued, only they were working on something other than telekinesis now: Reading minds.

Elizabeth was not okay with that, not at all, because . . . privacy and all that.

"I'm adding a rule to my list," she said as soon as she realized Michael was going to probably have to learn on her. "After you learn to do this properly, you are not allowed to intrude on my thoughts."

Michael agreed to that by shrugging and nodding at the same time.

"The most he will be able to do at this point is feel what you're feeling, maybe catch a word or two of what you're thinking," Langdon explained.

That was comforting, at least.

"But one day he will be able to read my mind completely. You could when I first met you."

"My powers were a lot stronger than his. His may never be as strong as mine were."

"Why?" both Michael and Elizabeth said.

Langdon didn't answer; he just looked at Elizabeth steadily and told her to focus on something.

"When I was learning how to do this, my teachers would hide something and then I would have to discern where it was they had hidden it."

"Can we do that?" Michael asked. "That sounds almost fun."

Elizabeth looked at Langdon. "So I just think of something and he can go and get it?"

"That should work, since you haven't actually hidden anything."

"I . . . what do I do? Just think really hard or –"

"Focus on what it is you want him to go get."

Elizabeth began thinking about a very specific red shirt and where it was – hanging up in the closet in her room – and then let Michael know she'd picked something so he would know to try to figure out what it was.

"And what do I do?" Michael asked.

"Stay focused on Elizabeth."

That didn't seem to be too hard. Michael was always focused on her in some way. It was weird, though, because he scrunched up his eyes and she could almost feel him trying to read her thoughts.

"I kind of see the color red," Michael said, and Elizabeth nodded. He perked up a little, knowing he'd gotten something right. "I also see your room."

Without stopping to think about what exactly he was supposed to look for in her room, Michael began heading down the hallway and towards her room.

"You and I need to talk tonight, after he goes to bed," Langdon said.

"Okay. About why Michael won't be as strong as you were? You didn't answer earlier, but you looked like you wanted to say something."

"I don't know how he will react to knowing why he isn't as strong and probably never will be, so . . . as his caretaker, I am going to tell you why and then you can decide whether or not he should know."

"Is it your shirt?" Michael's voice called from down the hall.

"Well, it is a shirt. Bring it here so I can see," she called back. Then to Langdon, "That is not fair. You know I try to be completely honest with him."

"And you will probably decide to tell him this, but I thought you needed to know first so you could think of a way to tell him. Unless you want me to."

Elizabeth honestly couldn't imagine Langdon breaking bad news to anybody, not in a good way, and she knew whatever he was going to tell her had to be bad or he wouldn't have wanted to speak to her alone, after Michael went to bed.

"A'right, just . . . we can talk out on the porch like we did the first time."

Michael came rushing down the hall and into the living room then, a red shirt outstretched in his hands. It wasn't the right shirt, but since this was the first time he'd tried reading someone's mind it was still a good try.

* * *

Trying to read someone's mind didn't seem to take as much a toll on Michael as moving things with his mind did. He didn't get tired as easily and his nose didn't bleed at all. He was able to discern what she was thinking of just as many times as he wasn't, but it didn't discourage him.

"We can practice more tomorrow?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I need to talk to Langdon for a few minutes. Go get ready for bed and I'll be in to read to you soon."

Michael didn't complain at all or seem to care that he obviously wasn't being included in this conversation. To be fair, he probably thought she would just tell him whatever they talked about anyway.

Elizabeth followed Langdon outside and watched as he leaned against the porch railings.

"So?"

"So," Langdon repeated.

Elizabeth waited for Langdon to start; he was the one who wanted to talk to her about . . . whatever this was he wanted to talk about.

It was odd, but if she hadn't known any better, she would've sworn that Langdon seemed to not actually want to say what he was going to say. He had never hesitated to speak before.

"What is it? You want me to know, but you don't want to tell me."

He met her gaze then and she knew what she'd said was right.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"In a way it is, and in a way it isn't because the choice I made isn't a choice your Michael will ever make." Langdon crossed his arms over his chest and then went on. "I had the same abilities Michael has. We were both born with them. When I found out who I was and what everyone expected of me, they told me of a way to gain more power. It was what they wanted, what was expected, but I can't deny that I was entranced by the idea of being more powerful than I already was."

"Okay . . ."

"You asked me the other day, when Michael was being taken over, if I ever found a way to fight it off or control it, and I told you I embraced it and worked with it. You don't know how true that is or . . . was, since I've been cut off from my father in this dimension."

"What – what happened?"

"There was a ritual that happened when Ms. Mead found me. It involved a human sacrifice, a blood sacrifice. I don't know who the girl was, and I didn't really care. All I know and remember is Ms. Mead and her friends telling me I had to do it and that they had brought her for me."

"You killed her?"

"They killed her right in front of me. I wasn't much older than Michael is now. I had to ingest a part of her in order for the ritual to work, and that's what I did. They removed her heart and –"

"And you had to eat it?"

Elizabeth had been able to control her horror and disgust until that moment. She'd known it would be something she probably didn't want to know, but she was relieved that she could honestly say she probably wouldn't have to ever worry about Michael doing something like that. She would never make him make that choice and she believed she had taught him enough to not make that choice if ever he was put in the position to do that. He would know better.

"It was on that night that I made the decision to follow my father and never look back."

"Why, though? I don't understand that at all."

"If you decided to follow what sometimes haunts your house, Michael would follow you. He would make the same choice if you asked him to because he loves you and wants to please you. Fortunately for him, you are a good person, and would rather suffer than do something like that."

"Oh, you're admitting there are good people now?"

"I'm admitting you're a good person," Langdon said. "I'm not sure about the rest of humanity."

"Hm. I'm sorry your life was so bad you never got to see the good in it."

Elizabeth took a deep breath and then exhaled. She couldn't control what had happened in the past, but she could let him know she wouldn't condone it in the future.

"I may be crazy, but I'm going to give you the same condition I gave Michael when he started staying here. If he wants to continue staying here, he can't hurt or kill another person or thing. He's been able to live by that rule and I think you can too. To my knowledge, you haven't hurt or killed anyone but Mallory since you've been here. I mean, yeah, I feel that Constance's death is your fault, but you didn't actually kill her, so I can't really blame that one on you."

"I don't understand."

"It's simple. If you want to continue to be a part of our lives, you can't kill anyone."

Langdon's eyes hardened just a bit. "Are you telling me what to do?"

"No. I'm giving you an ultimatum. I'm . . . letting you know what the consequences will be if you decide you want to kill another person. It's up to you what you do with it."

Langdon stepped forward, close enough to be in her personal bubble, and tilted his head just so.

"And what makes you think I won't just kill you?"

"Because you care about us. You care about me, and you care about him, and you know what will happen to him if something happens to me. As much as it pains you to admit it, I don't think you want him to turn out like you. You wouldn't be helping us, if you did."

He scoffed. "I can stop helping just as easily as I started."

"I don't think you can, Langdon. You've decided you want us in your life, and if there is one thing you and Michael have in common, it's that you're both incredibly attached to the people you decide to let in, and you've let me in."

They were so close now she could feel his breath on her face when he exhaled. His body was tense even though hers was loose. Maybe she was overestimating herself and his connection to her, but she felt that no matter what he had said, he wasn't going to hurt her, because he did care about her in his own way. Besides, she and Michael were the only people he had; unless he wanted to be alone again . . . he couldn't hurt them.


End file.
